We drove past Kokkeplassen, Mom’s old workplace, where I had been at a nursery for a year, and I craned my neck, there had been a cliff there, we had climbed up a tree over the cliff every day, I seemed to remember. But it wasn’t a cliff, it was just a little slope, I could see now. And the tree must have been chopped down.
Again, what is the status of memory, if all is memory in My Struggle?
