I still remember it in crystal clear replay. Sleeping on the couch downstairs, ex and her parents up in the bedrooms. The last time I'd see her. The welcome end of an era. Phone alarm sounds at 4:30 AM. My hand strikes out, snatches the device and silences the annoying klaxon that heralds another week of work. Not a complaint exactly. Text message from Tori. I hardly hear from Tori anymore. No bullshit, just the erosion of time, distance. These six words:
Holy shit. David Bowie is dead.
Holy shit indeed. Maybe I've belabored the point; don't care. Read this if you want to understand my possibly overly dramatic reaction, which still resounds like the after image of a film you wish you hadn't watched and are afraid you can never unsee.
We need you David Bowie. The world's gone Phillip Jefferies in your absence.