Songs, without a doubt. I can hear a song and go back to the room I was in and the person I was with, not to mention how I felt.

Here’s an example or two.

I hear Come Monday by Jimmy Buffet, and it’s 3:00 in the afternoon. I’m at work at the Winter Park Towers, my first job. I was mopping the floor after lunch. I was 15 at the time, and I recall the 4-top by the window overlooking Lake Berry. My Uncle lived on that lake, and I could see his house

Here’s another. I was laying the wood to a girl named Leila in her bedroom in Coral Gables, Florida, at 24 years old. She was a cologne girl who sprayed you at the escalator in the Department Store where I worked. Apparently, she had already decided she was going to do me well before I knew it, and she did.

I was always able to control busting a nut and had been going at it with her clock radio playing music. Then Layla, by Eric Clapton came on. On the downstroke, she said it was her song because it was her name. I decided I would keep going until the end of the song just because it was long. We went at it like big dogs, which was unusual as she had a special talent with her mouth that was outstanding. It starts off with a hairband for a ponytail, if you need a reference. She even performed that on me in my office one afternoon. What a good sport.

If either of those songs comes on, I go right back to that time of life.

There are a million more, but I won’t bore you with the rest of my life. Plus, everyone has their own.