you get there, in the next hour, a tiny idea of the f…the time you reach St. Paul’s, you’re drenched. You sit in a back pew, non-saint Paul in your ears, and though it will be months before you get there, in the next hour, a tiny idea of the future takes shape.
… After dinner, drinks down the street. After those drinks, more drinks at your hotel’s rooftop bar. After that, hours on the bed staring out at the street, shaking, thinking about how you are slowly decaying and there is nothing you can do to stop it. And it happened so fast, out of nowhere. Everything was fine, and now everything is over.