historical perspective

When writers in 2210 write 'historicals' about 2005, they'll know who was president and what kind of fuel the cars consumed. What they won't know about is the huddle of chilly, hunched secretaries gathered on the doorstep of the office building, smoking. They won't see the man outside (that's what I'm looking at right now) with his jacket collar up and his cell phone to his ear, pacing back and forth, talking outside because he can't get reception inside where it's warm. They won't hear the click and the little sheep bleat of a horn the cars make when their owners come for them in the lot.
We lose the connective tissue of history. No one records it.

That's what I'm missing in 1810. Not the style of the hackney coach or even the kind of hat the driver wore. I'm missing the hackney stand. The cluck and whistle the driver gave when he started up. The chocks under the wheel. The pipe he tucks in his pocket. The feed bags for the horses.