Once in a while we may slip in like ghosts.

We look around, and we still know the place, we recognize some faces. But most of us have moved to different places. With luck you'll find a native who never fell out of love with home, who knows what roots are and who could tell you of the tides that came and went and wet the sand he walks on every night.

Maybe he'll smile and say hello and ask you: "How've you been?"

And you will shrug and say: "You know..."

You will be grateful if he stops it there, and orders shots. So you can drink like yesteryear and try and talk the way you used to. Just to pretend that you yourself do know.