Gasping for water as dry grass crunches underfoot. I walk down wide streets and see no-one out, steel and plastic cubes chock full of people, cars still warm in the parking lots. Strewn with sun and a sense of newness, a country like a tree full of ripe, low-hanging fruit with the dollar as a picking tool. The woman from behind the counter in Wendy’s gets into the one beat up car in sight. A 40oz drink cup makes sense in the context but what of the subtext and did anyone read the pretext and I think I’m asking the right questions but


It’s listening through the first half of the album, until the Gothic mock-Western solo of ‘A Forest’ meanders to a halt. It’s a lack of oxygen in Rachel Trickett, room dark and two people chair-to-chair. Sunlight under the door a taunt. It’s the song that played in a white people carrier, around the wide, straight streets of Vancouver B. C. A lyric I couldn’t make out. It’s all of these things. It’s faltering and having to fight; nothing but Narcissus fighting a reflection. Tinnitus rings out my right ear. It rang out then. Pubs coalesce to muddy background hiss. Prentiousness denied its air in the wider world.