Wednesday, September Eighth, 2003.
I swear on my life.
Sydney is alive.
"She- She's gotta be. She has to be."
"Kennedy." The woman said. "Tell me everything you remember about that night."
I had no intention of telling her everything.
I checked the clock for the hundredth time. This would all be over soon. Sydney would say: 'Everything's fine, Drummer.' or 'Don't get all twisted up about it'
She has to be right.
No. You know what Sydney Govender would say, if she were here watching me get all psyched out?
"Oh, well." "We'll get it next time, D."
This wasn't something I could make myself say 'Oh well' about.