The Palace of Memory

The curtains in his mind between remembered past and observed present grew thinner with each passing year, a diaphanous membrane of inconsistent transparency.

The world began to seem as a dream, the long-dead stopping by for conversation or advice, the not-yet-born asking to be named. Places too, for his mind held no fixed geography.

Passages between far-flung cities connected them like rooms in a house, so moment to moment he would be standing in his boyhood Glasgow and then in Greenwich Village.

To onlookers he was a smiling old man sitting on a bench, but his inward life was limitless.

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