In the beginning? There was buffering.

There was a butterfly flapping its wings in the Amazon.

There was certainty, orange juice (sugarless) and Coca-Cola, there was a Lhasa Apso, there was hardly any horizon, and there were fruit in the trees in the old house where we went every summer and there was moving and maps and strawberry syrup antibiotics and time, so much time you could drown in it, and there were dumplings and TGI Friday’s mustard and cake mixes and butter fingers, and I’ve mentioned butterflies already but there was waiting and there was magic and triplets on TV, and there was carnival with its confetti, there were cassettes and cousins and their ferrets and stories so many stories but there still are – in fact I think sometimes that’s all there is – what was it like, though? When words were that concrete