Now that I’m listening to IQ-lowering radio pop (as I do every summer), I occasionally experience a bizarre side effect.
When I was 17, I spent the summer with my mother (as I usually did — I lived with my dad during the school year). Mom lived in a place very close to where I currently live. I had job for a few weeks, and I would drive to work, using the same streets that I do now.
Every once in a while, when a song from the early 80s comes on and I’m passing the eucalyptus trees on a certain part of C.I. Boulevard, I get sucked into the time vortex. Suddenly, I’m seventeen again, in my mom’s 1978 stick-shift Honda, thrilling to the freedom of driving! By myself! In Southern California!
It’s then and there how I see there’s very little between Point A and Point B on life’s roadmap, merely some airwaves.