Worse :(

what happened before this: I read a Primo Levi short story in the New Yorker about an exploding star, and I walked up South Dowling Street to get out of the house, get some exercise, and get some lunch.

poem:
Very Sad Poem, Sunday at Berkelouwe

When the sun explodes,
that shop over there, with the picture in the window -
no trace will remain.

Even before that, when the archaeologists dig and find in the dust their first traces of this lost civilization that is my city,
They'll find a pot shard, a motherboard, a foundation stone - no trace of this shop
or this street.

And I will be long over this flu I've had all week and can't seem to shake,
my bones turned to dust
and those of all my friends, loved ones and acquaintances,

And no one will remember that I once had a silver Hyundai and we drove it to Newcastle for footy games and to the grocery store
(the concept of the internal combustion engine will have been long superseded and lost),

And the sound of my broken heart will no longer echo like a giant bass bell through history,
but will be finally quiet.

what happened after this: I had a bad relapse of stomach problems and had to take a very expensive taxi home.