A MacBook does not have a backspace key. Every mistake you make must be deleted, purposefully, deliberately, finally (until you hit ctrl+z and it springs to life again) Ryan played us a ten minute piano ode in the florescence of the CCC, and it was beautiful. A complicated and quick-fingered soundtrack to the evening. The air is full of mist and fog outside, and I have never felt so ghostly and solid at once. I haunt hallways and lounges and the dreams of my lover, his subconscious the only thing to fear. My response is to hold him tighter and wait for morning. On the wagon, off the wagon. Who can tell? The one thing that has changed is that any deviation from sobriety is a well-considered choice. Now, where is Ry?