Wonderful Life by Black comes on and when the steel drums chime, ten seconds in, my skin tingles at the back of my head like it did when I was eighteen, listening to this song as I walked past the Wilton Road hospital where he’d die when he was fifty-three, the same age I am now; an age I’d then have thought old. 

His loss is a real thing in the real world for people who knew and loved him, and I know I have no right, but for those four minutes forty nine seconds, we’re both alive.

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