The chilled air in the place seemed filled with unease. Clean, sterile, with “handlers” at every carefully-monitored corner of the place. Doors locking in neat rhythm as any cries of the patients behind them went unheard by the visitors.
It was the anniversary of Moby Dick’s publication. 15 November 1851. The song was released on 15 November ’18. This has to mean something, but I don’t care what. There’s a clarity that transcends absolutes, and defining something too rigidly is