Time is not what it was. We hardly see each other anymore. A wave of the hand, a vague smile suffices where once we shook hands or even embraced like long-lost friends.
Maybe it is the town that has changed. I look for and see white picket fences, boys riding bikes, people of all ages walking alone or as couples, sometimes leading or trailing a dog. But perhaps the town has changed somehow, in ways I cannot see. Perhaps the people have changed.
If I asked, would people tell me how they have changed? Is there a story to change or a science? Is anyone, meaning everyone, competent to tell their own story? I thought that took a certain talent and practice.
No matter. At the end of the day I am the one who has lost touch with time. And I am unconcerned, not worried at all, not about time, not one bit.