Last night is a smoky blur – another session at the pub with Klaus
and his friends. But this is not one of those hangovers where you write the
day off to darkness. It is the more interesting kind, where destroyed
synapses are reconstructing themselves, sometimes missing their old paths
and making odd, new connections. I remember things I haven’t remembered
before – things that do not come out of the ordered store of
memories I call my past.