I can't honestly account for the very personal response that I have to one story and not another, a sense of an orbit, the orbit of a world that draws me as my own life recedes.
The West has always been the epicentre of possibility. One of the ways we forge against mortality is to head west. It's to do with catching the sun before it slips behind the horizon.
It's a source of great sadness to me that my father died without having seen me do anything worthwhile. He was constantly having to make excuses for me.
I still relate to my father very much. I mean, I talk to him in a certain way, as we do talk to the dead.