The glowing cups of glee, labeled as aperols or gin & tonics, clutched by the hands of giddy silhouettes, blindingly free in the white backlit light. I hate them all and there I say it. Pavements full of them, these newly released beings, absurdly buoyant, treading air. Where is my place in all of this? I feel deceived and long for the stillness of just a few weeks ago, that vacant pause. Now they’re all charged with a new lease of life and mockingly so, to musicians without work. My shadow steps lightly just behind me, ever present to highlight the darkness – I want them all to go home…