The walls of this pub are covered with postcards. Photographs of places that change slowly, places that where here before she was born and that will be here long after she dies. But she is here now.
She is sat with a girl that hides her face in her fringe and a friend that reminds her of hedgehog. She will remember tonight in the smell of fruit cider and cigarette smoke. A haze of the fuzzy Polaroid pictures they are sorting through, one selected and snuck among the postcards.
It lives here now a picture of them amid pictures of places more enduring then this moment.
Places more permanent then people, but if she takes a photograph will this moment live on. Or will these images fade away and damage along side her memory?