“Though we didn't know it they were the good years. So much that was unknown to us lay in the future, so much unbelievable and bad, and we didn't worry about any of it. We were broke, without prospects and with no possessions of worth, and yet we were right to think life was sweet. We had so little we didn't even know how little we had. We didn't care. All that we didn't have was uninteresting and irrelevant. The future was an infinite horizon over which the sun still glimmered its early morning promise. Everything had a smell and every smell was fresh — the morning air, the sun on the bitumen, the evening rain. There was just today and that felt like more than enough.”
Book:First Person
