Wednesday, July 1, 2009


I called my wife.
“Hello,” she said.
“MJ is dead,” I said
“Michael Jackson?”
“Shut up. I have to turn on the TV. Kids, go play somewhere else, mummy has to watch the news, big news, Michael Jackson is dead.”
“I'm not surprised."
“But this is huge.”
“If he was Michael of the 80’s."
“Poor Farrah.”
I met up with some friends I used to work with and we didn’t spend much time on it. When MJ came up, it was replaced by other discussion. On the drive home I started dialing radio stations. I drove with the windows down. It was the first summer day. You could hear him from the other cars as traffic narrowed to one lane because of the paving operation. I wanted to hear “Billie Jean.”

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