Visiting the hospital for blood tests. At a junction in the corridor which somehow the flourescent lights don't seem to reach, the lit up PEPSI drinks vending machine bears a handwritten sign that reads:
OUT OF ORDER
SMELLS OF BURNING
A friend writes, describing a recent open-air gig/performance:
Sweaty. Hopelessly messy, I couldn't even recognise some of the songs till we were well into them, strange feeling of ploughing on with singing through the noise on trust that somewhere, somehow it can be heard. We got good reactions.