And then there was home, I think our first here in Melbourne, about which I have only the dimmest memories, vague and foggy memories of the dark brown couches and the light brown carpet in the living room that I vomited all over after seeing a bloody bandage in my pants and assuming – no, knowing – that my penis had fallen off.
“Would I do it again?” And my answer is “I don’t know yet”. I like not knowing.