08/12/80.
This morning I discovered an unsmoked - and relatively unbent - cigarette among the crumbs lurking under the cushions of my sofa.
I am smoking it now. Looking at the hoarfrost melting in the sun from my window here on the twenty-second floor, and pondering John Winston Lennon's December demise twenty-eight years ago.
I considered posting a song to commemorate his death yesterday, but given all those DMCA notices circulating currently I think it safe to assume they are just waiting for an excuse to pounce.
You know the drill. Imagine a number and hum along. Just not that one, please; the post title will suffice.
2 comments:
You really live on the 22nd floor? Scary. The views must be gorgeous though.
Ps The word verification was iburiedpaul. How weird is that?
Ha, on the word verification! Very weird, if I'm to believe you.
Yep, though, I do live on the 22nd floor. The views are great but the building is beyond repair. Apparently. I face west, so I get an uninterrupted view of the river snaking through the city towards the Irish Sea and the Atlantic. It is cold always, unless the sun is streaming in directly through the windows; late afternoon to evening, except in winter.
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