I wonder too much about someone else’s present, who may happen to be part of my past. This might have something to do with the fact I'll never have too bright a future to consider. The funny part of all this remains that the only time I’m “present” is when I’m chronicling these expeditions into a past that’s fictitious at best and that other present which is not my own. It’s my sole claim to mindfulness and I’m only borrowing it. Well, stealing it. But only for the hour that I touch these keys, leaving fingerprints on your present …tomorrow.