Going through the end of a relationship means losing part of yourself in the process. Piling empty bottles, cooking for one, relearning routines, missing your lover and clinging to memorabilia like match balls. Feeling the need to sketch an useless timeline of events while obsessing over Jenn Ghetto and bypassing export limits by splitting this in two. It's 5:43am and all of the pretentiousness in the world lives in me. This is not a record but audio as a mean for displacement.