Frankie M'Boy

I don't know: a certain part within me feels compelled to pen all the flighty theories I have held near and dear over the past few years.
Snow Days, high beds, and now this.

I killed Frank Sinatra.

I did. I really, really did.

See, back in the Dark Ages when I listened to music (may Allah forgive my sins and the mention of this particular one, Ameen), I stumbled onto "Strangers in the Night" and fell in absolute love with it.

So much did I like this song that I set it to an infinite repeat on my stereo and the song would rage on all day and all night, irrespective of the fact whether I was in the room or not.
So "Strangers in the Night" was playing ad infinitum for the course of two days, and Frank Sinatra died on the third day.

Just like that.

I killed the man. He must have been exhausted from all that singing.

He's no more and it's all my fault.