Forget Magazine. Remember, Remember, Yada Yada Yada.

It began in the mind there in Winnipeg, when I foresaw how sorely I would miss your company--in the plain knowledge that our conversation had come to an end, never to be taken up again with such exclusivity, with so much time for the unfolding. We would return separately to the real world, where dialogue breaks off, conversation is always on hold and wisdom is never given time enough: where again we might meet and talk from time to time, with friends in restaurants and living rooms, or with colleagues in meeting rooms and bars; but never again would we loiter as we pleased through distant precincts, inventing history with our small talk; never again would we savour our own unfettered company: never again would we perambulate a city.

Stephen Osborne takes the bus. By times the train.