Today, I pass by the street we used to walk. The zebra crossing at the empty road where we fooled around is no longer there. The road is now bustling with cars and there is a tall overhead. The shops have a new coat of paint. The CD shop where we spent our afternoons in is replaced by a quaint dainty café. I miss the sounds of old records playing instead of the loud blaring of pop music from the new mall across the street.

I close my eyes and take a breath, letting my surroundings embrace me. When I open my eyes again, I see them. I see us.

You were whirling around the lamp post. Its paint was flaking off. I was balancing myself on the curb. You asked me, “Do you think we will go to the same high school?” I slowly lowered my arms to my side.

“Yea?” I replied.

“Yea.” You echoed and I knew that was enough for us. We smiled at each other, us against the world.

“But my dear friend,” I said. “Waiting for a car, and a blue one at that, to drive past this quiet street is like waiting for snow in summer.”

He laughed heartily, and I laughed along. That was always our secret and also our cue to leave.

The midnight blue BMW zooms past with its engine roaring, snapping m