"Then again: there was not exactly a word for Boris and me. Until Kotku cam along, I had never thought too much about it. It was just about drowsy air-conditioned afternoons, lazy and drunk, blinds closed against the glare, empty sugar packets and dried-up orange peels strewn on the carpet, "Dear Prudence" from the White Album (which Boris adored) or else the same mournful old Radiohead over and over :

For a minute
I lost myself, I lost myself...

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