God, I was looking through my archives and found some wonderful stuff, good stuff, tantalizing stuff. Stuff that hinted at greatness, before all the pomp and bullshit settled in. That’s the trouble with becoming a professional. People pay you to do what you love, then you no longer love doing it. Then what you produce is no longer good. That’s all right then, isn’t it? As Jimi Hendrix said, “I’ve still got my guitar.” So, it’s mid-October in Tartu and the weather’s shit. I can smell the smoldering smoke from the chimneys. The leaves, when the sun hits the piles strewn on the ground, are pretty. Immaculate. Natural. Love ’em. Lunch I take in at Kohvipaus on the corner of Rüütli and Küütri. I get the big Greek salad. Sometimes I look at Kroonika. Sometimes I look at all of the blonde women and try to figure out how they once overwhelmed my hormones so much. Youth is beautiful, isn’t it? Idiotically gorgeous.