Fuck.
I am Cone Alone.
Fuck.
I am Cone Alone.
You left this morning.
I tried to stop you in your tracks.
But you had to go.
I am Cone Alone.
“A year without Cone Alone: like waiting for the train you know is coming, but for some reason keeps being delayed by another 10 minutes. The world moves around you, going about its business, but you continue to wait. You continue to wait because you know what’s coming is worth it.”
“We’ve waited roughly 525,600* minutes for the return of Cone Alone. Was it worth the wait? Most definitely! But maybe next time, don’t make us wait so long…”
—
*Rent suggests this is how you measure a year. If this is not how you measure a year in the life of a Cone, how do you measure a year? Perhaps you measure it in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights in cups of coffee? In inches, in miles, in laughter and strife?