I wonder if it's linked somehow to the fear that there must be something 'wrong' with things we like.
And darn the creepy MP3 player to heck. Because I am not ready to write the spy book yet. And this song belongs on the spy book soundtrack.
Actually, it's got me thinking about where I was when the Berlin wall fell. Which was sitting in the bullpen newsroom of the paper I worked for from 1989 to 1993, reading stories out loud off the AP wire so we could have the freshest news possible when we put the paper to bed.
That's also where I spent the Rodney King riots, by the way.
9/11, I spent in a media monitoring room with fourteen monitors going, each one tuned to a different cable, world, or local news channel. Man Who Fell To Earth.
That was the day I became a writer again, after three years when I didn't touch fiction at all.
On such fragments of crystalline recollection hang the structure of a life.