From August (Listener Message)

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[Transcript]

Hello, Whiskey. I'd like to tell you a story. Nothing more, nothing less. You don't have to respond. You don't even have to listen. It's just nice to talk to someone after...

There was once a child. For they can't have been much more than that. Maybe ten or eleven years old. And this child lived in a sleepy little village in the English countryside. The child always knew they were different to anyone else in the village, but they didn't know why or how. They didn't understand their people, and in turn, their people did not understand them. But it was all right. You don't need to understand one another to teach one to read or to help out on a farm. And all was well. But the child always felt left out, misunderstood as they were. They hated their people.

But hate is such a strong word, I hear you cry. They hated their people with a burning passion. It ate them up inside. Tearing out a hollow in their chest. till they were completely and utterly empty. I wish I was alone, they would cry. I wish you would all just leave me be. So I could be alone.

And one day when they woke up, their wish had come true. It was not what they had wanted. They screamed and they cried. And then they fell to their knees and laughed and laughed and laughed.

I have been alone for years. I walk a lot nowadays. Always in the same few square miles, my dear. I have a little hoard of books and music and radios and televisions. A lot of it doesn't work anymore. Of course, sometimes when I travel outside of my area, I will hear a voice and I will think that maybe, just maybe, this time I am not alone.

And that is how I found you. Whiskey. I realized you were alive and at the same time as me, you were alive. But then I realized you are not even on the same continent as me. And so I remain alone. My name is August, by the way. Nice to meet you.

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