I remember the strip club in Boston. I remember smoking a cigar on the wall of the harbor. I remember sushi in Los Angeles and the time I walked across the border to Tijuana. I remember the pizza buffet in Red Lodge. I remember stumbling into a doorway in Paris in the rain and waking up to find sunshine. I remember buying corned beef in British Columbia and getting stranded in the middle of nowhere. I remember crying in Columbus Circle and what it felt like to see the sun rising up over Central Park for the first time. I remember drinking whiskey around a giant fire. I remember throwing up off the bike riding up the hill out of the valley. I remember the lonely drives back to Atlanta. I remember baseball in the Spring. I remember thinking I was invincible. I remember realizing I wasn’t. I remember the simplistic innocence of my Chevette. I remember nachos in the cafeteria. I remember sleeping in the park and then again the desert. I remember meeting Leo. I remember the antlers in Jackson Hole. I remember the mall in Seattle. I remember the ferry in Seattle. I remember that glass of water in Versailles and the many beers that followed. I remember seeing myself on television for the first time. I remember the feeling of feeling important. I remember realizing the arrogance in that. I remember the cookies and coffee. I remember snowboarding. I remember the bench seat in the van and the grand dreams I had there. I remember the baseball cards and the Walkman. I remember the quarter pipe. I remember the empty pool in Holbrook. I remember the Holland Tunnel. I remember Holland. I remember the Detroit airport and the Kansas City airport. I remember Memphis and St. Louis and Las Vegas. I remember the trip from LA to New York. I remember West Virginia in a blizzard. I remember Amarillo and Albuquerque. I remember the dog statue and the walks around Santa Fe. I remember getting sober. I remember getting married. I remember getting divorced. I remember Alaska and Montana and Idaho. I remember going door to door. I remember losing the phone in Chicago only to go back and find it. I remember sleeping in the truck. I remember riding a bike for the first time. I remember my first cigarette. I remember my first kiss. I remember shop class. I remember fighting on the bus. I remember wanting to graduate. I remember college. I remember the Grand Canyon and New Orleans. I remember Deer Creek and Alpine Valley. I remember Cleveland. I remember, but sometimes I forget.