Frankly I’m shocked Uber hasn’t got a fleet of penny-farthing drawn rickshaws yet. What happened to capitalistic integrity?

Sorry, I lost myself for a minute there. I’ve been tumbling through time and it’s been quite the trip. I was checking out my girlfriend’s old Facebook photos because I thought it’d be neat to get a snapshot of who she was before we met. Also she was 100% babyfaced and adorable, which is quality shits and giggles fuel. Doesn’t everyone love a good round of Who would we be if we met back then? Come to think of it, in most cases my answers would’ve been buffoonish or drunk in an effort to hide crippling insecurities, so let’s stick with when we did. We’ve talked about it before, but I know she’s the kind of girl I would’ve developed a soul enveloping crush on in high school then failed to act on any of my feelings. It was a stroke of luck that we met once I was the right person in the right place (and hemisphere) to do something about it. Actually, that’s balls. She literally took me by the hand and made things happen, I can drop the unbecoming self-righteous rhetoric. That kind of stuff all comes out in the wash. How we met and who we were then matters not an ounce in a living, evolving relationship. Anyway, the point of this wasn’t to write yet another treatise on our relationship. I’ve got virtually every other entry for that.

No, I’m more interested in how it took me 29 years to discover the magical technology of photo albums.

I’ve eschewed it thus far and I’m not the type to take photos. Fortunately my friends were. Yes, I realise the rest of society has long held the secrets of time travel in those weighty glossy folders, but it still feels novel for me. With a scroll of the wheel I’m back at the time my two friends and I decided to arrive at a Disney themed birthday wearing identical Christopher Robin outfits. I’m reliving my 21st birthday. It’s evident that I’m so drunk pouring a glass of wine that my facial features are in danger of sliding off my head. The time we had a toasted sandwich party at the flat and forced each other to try increasingly ludicrous toasted sandwich samples. Nutella and olives was quite the taste sensation. Perhaps not a positive one. Shaving my head as part of an elaborate joke. The anthropomorphic fluff ball we made from my shavings.

The majority of photos are with the same friends. That core group of people who were instrumental in forming the “me” typing this. It’s theme party after theme party, whether “Rainbow Road”, “Hoedown” or “Worst Party Ever”. Beach holidays, batch getaways, Thailand and Australia, crossing the United States in a large RV (without any conflict driven manslaughter). So much alcohol. It’s weird to see us all age in reverse, for those layers of who we’ve all become to peel one by one. It’s strange to think that at each stage I felt so mature, like I’d come so far. Looking back now, see a bunch of kids. So cherubim and unaware, uncaring of where things are headed. My face has wrinkles that Leon at 20 didn’t see in the mirror. I also have knowledge that I lacked at 20. I’m wise enough now to know that I haven’t got a clue and that’s alright. It’s better than being a clueless know-it-all.

Man, photo albums are kind of neat. What’ll I try next?A penny-farthing?


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