Once again you pass the White Rhinoceros. He is eating hay and standing not more than fifteen feet from you as you pass. And you and your wife laugh, like you did as kids, like your daughter does when tickled. The rhinoceros is eating spaghetti. Moments pass, then days and years.
Miles fly by under foot and tire.
Experiences wedge their way into your synapses, into your being, some fade over time. But the rhinoceros will always be eating spaghetti. You cannot escape how it has become woven into your personal lore. You cannot escape how it has become linked to every part of your life. You laugh about it at odd times, like when your daughter is sleeping in the back seat during the long drive home.