8:14/23:14

Well Floyd was surging through the whitened cords as the title track wrenched itself forth, started things up again. Things had started up again too many times. You’re not quite a Barrett, I thought with a sip and a sigh, but you’ve been gone for a while now. You’re an old soul. And I hope that you’re well there, I hope that you’re ok. I’m doing well here, strictly speaking, I’m alright.

This place is pretty busy, busier than usual for a Tuesday. The coffee is decent, and it seems that everyone is doing pretty well. Yeah, we’re all well here.

It’s cold in Sydney; it’s cold all right. It’s like a blizzard, but what can you expect post-Armageddon? The walls in this place are tired, a thickened canvas of crusty whitewashed paint. It’s past eleven there, past eleven o’clock in London. I hope you’re well there. Yeah, I hope you’ve got a carefully rolled joint and a chest so heavy that it hurts to press repeat, but you do, because you're listening too.