Dear (redacted), i have gone to work for the night. I will be translating dreams for insomniacs, keeping an eye on the stars to make sure they don’t lose their place and gathering up discarded memories and goodbyes. The hours are long, but my days are free so I will see you when the morning comes. I will see you when i lay my head down in the light that keeps a distance so as not to disturb you.
In which a long-time record collector decides which albums to keep and which to cull, supplemented by other commentary
