‘No problem’: the last words I ever say to somebody I have been reasonably close to before our lives take different directions. Weird, eh? You spend Christmas at somebody’s house, you worry about their operations, you give them hugs and kisses and flowers, you see them in their dressing gown . . . and then, bang, that’s it. Gone forever. And sooner or later there will be another mum, another Christmas, more varicose veins. They’re all the same. Only the addresses, and the colors of the dressing gown, change.

What came first, the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music? Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?

Publicado el Domingo, 27 de Febrero de 2005 a las 20:19 por elsamu en Sin categoría. Puedes seguir las respuestas a este artículo a través del feed de Comentarios RSS.