I'm watching an exciting pop musical performance from the America in the 60s, by The Pointer Sisters, and their funny moves, and the care-free audience with those strange moustaches and puffy clothes. When with the navy my dad used to go to the US, around that time and before. He must have liked it there. Now, aged, he is stuck here in this dead city. It sharply occurs to me; a seemingly painful dichotomy for him of that place and time and here and now. It must be sad but hazy by time. You know, some of us never actually made it to the post-revolution, or some parts of us.

"..and if you move, real slow and let it go...I'm so excited, I just can't hide it, I'm about to lose control and I think I like it"