I Put on a T-shirt I got up during the night and put on a T-shirt because it was getting cold— an old T-shirt, with holes, worn thin, that I’d bought at a concert of my favourite singer. As I waited to get back to sleep lines from his songs ran through my head—even though I didn’t want them to. The music was soft, gentle, melodious— like a far-off wind blowing over the Aegean Sea on an island where I once stood. I pictured him playing a guitar. He sang of love, loss, Biblical exile, the…
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