lost the remote. now the adventure begins. when Bookstores were actual, you could go there and find what browsing smells like, by-hand, but pacing back and forthright on **** affords - the grand vistas of sustained contemplation. candles lit for no reason just pretty. laptop humming like a soft boiling box of overexposure. and thereβs the bourbon on a resolute desk like a summoning of moonshine with a caramel sun.