Today, a higher force was clearly working it's magic. I can honestly say that I had heard a handful of Phil Collins songs in malls, fabric stores and in a car driving by. The ones that are really fucking catchy and stay with you for weeks on end like Against All Odds and You Can't Hurry Love. For a second, I thought he may have died since the last time I recall his happening was after Michael Jackson's death.
I was humming it at the urinal of a Thai restaurant. I was whistling it walking down Powell St. I was subtly singing it to myself at the book store. It was an eerie day. The type of day that you propose to a girlfriend or commit suicide or subscribe to a magazine you know you'll never read.
