I can still smell you on my fingers, and taste you on my breath.

Every so often, I miss my student life in Oxford. I miss talking aimlessly into the night with a friend (or three), in my room, over a beer or a glass of port (or three). I miss wandering the streets [2] and rooves at night with my camera, on a whim at 2am. I miss wandering blearily out with pilly for some chips 'n' cheese from Hassan's. I miss watching people stagger drunkenly home from bops, from the warmth of my final year windowsill. I miss the late-night rambling IRC conversations, which you Just Don't Get These Days. I wish I could do it all again, and I wish I could do it better this time. Sometimes, I park in the centre at night, watch the people go by, and pretend I'm there.