When grandpa still existed, when there were any grandpas at all, he used to explain to me that there used to be more than one sun in the sky. He said there was harddrive rust in the universe and that all the stars had become similar and they had then become one. Concepts were disappearing, merging. There’s just one sphere now, and there are no grandpas, and soon there’ll be no memory of grandpas either. I think my hands used to have more fingers, but I don’t know what comes after ‘five’. The one sphere sings a solemn, lonely song.