It made me sad when I had to give up on deja vu. I was nineteen. It was too soon. I could’ve used that mystery for longer. Soft brain resets. Whoop de dooky. So much for past lives and alternate dimensions. The more impressed I get with the human brain, the sadder I get. I’ll admit, it would’ve been cool if there were magic but we’re shit out of luck. Deja vu was the last thing to go. No magic. Tonight I had the exact same feeling I had last night before taking a shower. The moment felt the exact same. No brain reset, just twenty-three hours, a day of work, three meals, a three mile run, and two television shows. And it felt the same. I did a lot of stuff–wrote a bunch, read some–and it was just routine. Does one recognize a routine at its beginning or its end?