Play as Being 86

• Blackbird sings. Ash keys sway in the breeze. I can stretch out and touch them without moving.
• The estate (US: subdivision), on which I live, is a monument to separateness. On the separate houses with their separate walls, each roughcast with a harl of a million or more separate shell fragments, there stand separate TV aerials, each sucking in the outside world to tuners that separate out the channels for the individual and separate family audiences. And in each home, the family members inside see each other as separate, often keeping their own 'space', feeling their own pain and fleeting pleasures, and doing anything to stop themselves wondering, "Why?" ... ENOUGH! It doesn't have to be this way! I refuse to see it that way any more.