the boomerang turns in flight

it's a bittersweet time - closing time , that is.
Semisonic has a song about it.
So many memories that run past my mind like little rivulets of gold. So many that I can't help but turn bitter that I can't hold them all in my mind.
And a fear that they will never amount to anything more than memories.
That one day the future, I'll look back on all those little memories and decide that they were just a figment of my imagination.
I'm alone for atleast ten cubicles in each direction, barring the small pocket of night-shift-ers five cubes to the south.
My bus will turn up in an hour and half, and it wont' wait for me.
In all this little limitations of time and space, my mind floats peacefully on the tangent realm where memories live.
I've forgotten a lot that has happened in the last year or so.
Packing involves scavenging, and disturbed artifacts return to the surface in the process.
And trigger of the little rivulets of happy sad little memories.
But I can't stay and talk about it how things have changed and I have changed and talk about the things that did the changing with relish and child-like doting. I got to run.
for it's closing time.
and Semisonic's got a song about it.