I remember where I was when Kennedy was shot. I remember where I was when Nixon resigned. I remember where I was when the Challenger blew up. I remember where I was when 9/11 happened. I remember where I was when Fukushima happened. I remember where I was when Trump was declared as winning in 2016. I actually remember where I was when I heard that Keith Emerson committed suicide—five years to the day after Fukushima, the same evening Trump’s Chicago rally was canceled, and I switched from Cruzer to Trumpster.
I don’t remember where I was when Lennon was shot. That must mean something.
I also remember where I was when I found out that Keith Emerson committed suicide.
I was right here. About two minutes ago.
“That must mean something.”
Yeah, you probably remember where your mom bought your first Carpenters record, and that Archies album too.