The footsteps follow me everywhere, creep by creepy creep, all around the house. I am not afraid of them, I am resigned to the shadows hovering around me. Looking out through the window, I notice the grey light of an early dawn, there is a sadness about this morning but I refuse to address the source of this vague malaise I am experiencing. I walk sleepily into the kitchen and start a pot, for I must have my coffee. The feeling of performing everyday tasks, the routine itself is comforting, like a warm blanket in a cold room. Slowly my brain is stirring awake, coming on full blast like an express train pulling into the station, I know subconsciously what will arrive on that train, it’s the same footsteps that has been following me all around the house, all morning. There it was, I am wide awake, there is no escaping it now, everywhere I look, it stares back at me, in big black unflinching letters; MICHAEL JACKSON DEAD AT 50! How exactly am I going to spend the rest of my day?
