It all started in the late eighties. It was just another day. Just another dinner at the overcrowded table in our little house. While us four brothers and sisters cleared the table, my sister’s new boyfriend went to the leather jacket that hung from the coat rack. He took something from the inner pocket, came towards me and gave it to me secretly. A tape. “For you,” he said. “So you can get rid of all the George Michael tapes.” He smiled at me, put on his jacket and walked away. Out of our house and into an indelible memory.
Ten minutes later I put the tape in my small radio. I lied down on the bed. First 5 seconds of silence, then some weird noises, and then… I never listened to my George Michael tapes ever again.