It’s great exercising those memories stored in the dusty sections of your brain, like when I navigate my hometown roads. Strange things are shaken out as my mind accesses quality New England directions like “turn right a few yards after the Kiwanis Club sign”. I remembered which driveway belonged to my third grade teacher; when she lived in it there was a mailbox painted with cherries. I passed the sign where I got pulled over for executing a classic middle of the night “rolling stop”. Part of my Silicon Valley brain keeps popping up as I think “Ack! They changed the font on the street signs!” It’s a serif font now and, I think, less legible. I wish I had stolen the one for my road before they replaced it. They used to be these divinely rural black letters spray-painted on white using block letter stencils. So wonderfully small town.