john tejada & arian leviste: reactance

On a hot summer day, I suddenly got up to return my friend's basketball, after not returning it for more than ten years. I don't know why I had to do it. I was flooded with memories. One was especially blurry, the one where I pick up that basketball. I was alone in my friend's garage, the repetitive sound of filtered kickdrums coming from inside the house. The garage door was open. I try to put the ball back in the cardboard box as the garage door closes. Darkness. A voice whispers: "I smell your sound I eat your colors."