A friend turned his back as if to return. His halitosis becomes a madeleine of Proust our sticky, humid evenings. Dirty hair since this morning and until the next morning. It takes time for a change, it takes even more for not changing at all. It all seems so close, my memory fails me but I remember those moments when everything seems to lack energy and charge of false modesty. Adolescence never dies, what is unchangeable, this is a taste for work done poorly, the bullshit to come. But it all feels terribly hope great things, beautiful emotions and terrible cries of joy. The celebration is a dish best served hot, I'm delighted that someone has repaired the microwave rekindle the flame. I am already burning hair on legs. (2 Grinderman - Grinderman - EMI Music)
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