Ever look at a morning and think, “I’ve been here before. I was here in the summers of my youth, when the leaves were still lushly green, in the cool, dew-dropped mornings before the sun rose above the trees. I was here during the first mornings of school, walking to the bus stop through gentle suburban neighbourhoods, with their well-manicured lawns and their interlocking bricks. I was here before the Sunday rides into town, for big breakfasts and milk tea. I was here in another life, and all I’d like is to one day do it all over again.”