Why do you like DL, my sister asks.
I struggle for an answer, against a tsunami of images, sounds, smells, memories of cigarette smoke and an orange jacket, pacing feet, timelines, dates, emotions, gut drops, shivers, tingling fingers, head and heart aches.
It’s all so maddening, and infuriating not to be able to verbalise or rationalise this.
“It just feels inevitable.” That’s the best I can manage.
I just hope that I’ll be better at this gig.