It’s 1.37 and you are looking at me for confirmation, and I do hope that at 1.38 you find that I haven’t lie.

At 1.37 in the morning, I want to tell you, when your eyelids are heavy and the episode of Seinfield is a distant sound.

I want to sit in front of you, put my hands on your knees and say it to you slowly as it was a Sunday’s pray.

Stay quiet, taste the words and make of them what you want. 

However, let me say it when your mind is blank and you are about to say the name of the last album you heard. 

Let it be in the form of a surprise, the clown that jumps out of the box. 

T.A.