Two words: curtains fall, theater lights come on, deserted chairs pine, powerless to stop the butts that erstwhile sat on them from walking out and away.
Two words: could they be true when the movie was a life being lived? When the audience sits awhile, mentally replaying scenes and contemplating what they had witnessed?
Two words: perhaps our claim when life deals us cards we are helpless against? And what do they mean to dreams; a start or a cessation?
You should blame all the above on Michael Afenfia’s “Don’t die on Wednesday”.