A head full of booze and unprovoked memories of a grandparent dead over 15 years.
None of it invited but nonetheless – all present.
Rushing from one thing to the next.
Rushing through everything thanks to the false hope that what’s next will inevitably be better than whatever is current.
Rushing everything until reason stepped in to put a pin in the unsettling remorse that only Saturdays in April can bring.
What a show.