The Flying M, past due.

"A short man, alone, with a fanny-pack, and some gold bracelets around his wrists, is sitting opposite me, farther from the door. He is small in stature, perhaps in his late sixties. The thin hair covering all of his head is white, though his face clean shaven and dawning a pair of thin rimmed glasses. He is in plain dress and eating a scone open mouthed, smacking his lips. Which he seems to do with or without food.

At the table directly across from this gentleman is a group of three - an older woman, a middle aged woman, and a man with his long hair separated into two buns on top of his head. The conversation is fluid, though it seems the women are mostly listening. He introduces the two, his voice deeper than you would expect, carrying a tone of assurance possessed only by the secure or those pretending to be so; the older a professor of photography at the university, the younger a blacksmith and marathon runner.

The table farthest from me is currently seating another older gentleman with very large reading glasses, a short beard and dark gray hair, receding and balding. His long sleeved collared flannel shirt is a solid dark burgundy, and the shirt beneath it a light yellow cream color. He is mouthing the words to the song Lollipop, by the Chordettes, and gazing into the screen of the laptop."

What seems like more than a year ago in a coffee shop - downtown Boise. What has happened between then and now feels like it could have stretched over 3 or 4 years.

It's all irrelevant now. 

The best thing about life is that every pointed progression sends the meaningless flotsam of the past into the depths of  Forget. 

The best thing about life is change.

The best thing about life is personal growth.

The best thing about life is having lived.