Here's to you, @Han, @flaneur & everyone else involved in building this wonderful little community. And here's to everyone who shared so much amazing music through the last few years. Strangers, friends, everything in between, you're all pretty great. I'll miss this small window into your heads.
An old premise: If we were all told today that tomorrow we would die, we'd get beautiful in that short time. On the radio, they'd talk. Politicians would sound little. Some people would keep routine. Others, argue. Many would compulsively remember. Look: the immigrant butcher raises a finger, telling his former customers that they may go on robbing him. Mail carriers open letters: "Wish you were here," mainly. Rachel sits in her kitchen and stares at a cereal box and believes it. A dancer bends to breaking, curiosity overriding. Drinking parties form. Lil absconds like a runnel toward ocean. People marry. The mute genius speaks when he tells his errand boy, "Uh, I mean...I thought I'd have time." The waif in the well celebrates removed by shouting. Daughters regard their mothers and wonder what their own bodies still hide. Oscar feels connected to his missed chance at love, knowing somewhere right now -- at a cafe, on a boat -- she, too, is here.