“Well, you don’t go back, do you? At least you hope you don’t.” Coletta jots down another number. “You might take comfort in this, and you might not, but life is repetitive. Maybe it’s the journey humans need. But every so often, a war or a plague or what have you. A hundred years pass, and our streets look different, so different that we think we’re nothing like the people who came before us. Our situations, our circumstances, they’re all new. They must be, we think, because we’re so different. We want to be different. But at the core, everything’s the same. A hundred years ago, two hundred
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