How many Saturdays have we been here?
It feels like all the Saturdays in my life have been absorbed into this building, chewed up, regurgitated, spat out and now just resemble the endless list of saturdays left in here.
How many left?
Five? It may as well be five hundred.
The end is nigh, but this work is endless. Meaning? It has no end. And now there's 'new news' on the horizon...
Keith has plans to make our magazine a permanent fixture... eff my life. The word end literally lost all meaning.