hum of life.

“What is this photograph, Zak?”
“It’s a photo of our class. 1979.”
“How do you know it’s 1979?”
“It says on the bottom.”
“Ah. Alright. Didn’t see it.”
“It’s okay.”
“Which one’s you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you in the top row?”
“Perhaps. I was tall for my age.”
“So which one? There are five guys and a girl.”
“I cannot say.”
“You must be one of the guys, right?”
“I guess.”
“So, which guy, then?”
“No idea.”
“None of the guys looks like you, do they?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“The girl in the top row’s turning her head and is looking to the left.”
“Correct. Like she doesn’t belong.”
“Precisely. Like she’s not in the group.”
“No. She doesn’t belong in the picture.”
“But she’s a girl. So she cannot be you, right?”
“Not sure. This is confusing.”
“Is it possible that you’re that girl in the photo?”
“Not sure. I’m confused.”
“Have a closer look.”
“Not sure, I’m confused.”