What triggered it was a random conversation I had with a stranger at the ATM. I was waiting for my turn and got to talking to an older gentleman. The whole time I kept asking myself if I knew this fellow, wondered if maybe I'd spoken to him before. He was the sort of older guy I adore, the type who, despite his age, retains a touch of youth-as though the boy in him were still visible. The more time we spent gabbing the younger he became, until the transformation was complete, and he became someone else: Andre, that now-dead-boy from my past.
As maudlin as it sounds, I was elated that this had happened to me, on an ordinary Sunday, that an out-of-the-blue conversation could magically transform itself into an extraordinary event. I have always been drawn to footprints.