DAVE GALLERY @ Control Room
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I put it on when I got home last night. I had forgotten it was in my laptop until it ejected itself, as if trying to remind me it was there. It was the one you gave to me some months ago. “The transitions are important,” I remember you saying…
The right side of her top lip raised in a smirk, the smirk of someone watching something unpleasant, and feeling grateful not to be involved. It was unfortunate that we had both come to the same conclusion, independently, without exchanging words. “Well,” she sighed, halfheartedly, “is it too late to take them back?”
…there I was fast-forwarding through the whole damn thing, searching for the transitions as a way to experience the gift, at least on some abbreviated level. Still, nothing makes sense or is pleasing. It almost sounds like something you made for yourself, and later burned me a copy. Even though you gave it to me wrapped in a folded up piece of paper, I like to think you put great thought into it. I am sure it will stay in my laptop until you make me another, even though you still haven’t asked me if I have listened to this one.