There is a photograph on the noticeboard from a charity lift four years ago.
I am in the back of it, at a hundred, before any of it.

I used to walk past on the far side of the corridor.
Last week somebody asked whether that was me and I said yes,
and then I said the important part,
which is that between that photograph and this morning there are two years with nothing in them,
and the person in the photograph had no idea that was coming, and I do.

The Book of the Fallen — Return 66:4