2003 is another country. They did things differently there.

Let me show you around that museum: a bleak Stazi-yellow light bulb, the vapourised shadow of an apology from Santa in a sock left by the bedside, and a dusty windowsill on which Garcia Marquez, "74 Ways to Grow Rich!", "What is Dialectal Materialism?" . Wasn't that a lovely classroom, us throwing chalks at each other and pretending we'd amount to something?

Museum's closing in five minutes though, if you want to make an early exit to catch the matinee. No? You cancelled the ticket? Ah, good, I want to hear your take on the new installations. A persistent slide, an escalating loss of affect...Look, I'm sipping nice tea, running my fingers over my big, fat Buddha belly, and floating in a morbid, insidious pleasantness.

Accept it.

Accept it.