After
Greet your hazy future.
Time and Again (1942) by Yves Tanguy
Years from now, we’ll tell whatever stories spring to mind, dictated by our whims, our moods, our breakfasts, the quality of light streaming through the windows wherever we are. We’ll laugh like it was funny. We’ll shake our heads like it was a damn shame. We’ll place ourselves above it, or on the outside looking in, …