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Swim Low, Sweet Memories Of Jack Babashoff

The wee small hours, and I’m lying in bed, in a mildly mesmerised stupor … you know the one: normal brain function still shutting down before the dream shift arrives, and you only realise you’re no longer awake when any sudden noise jolts you back from nod. That zone of the inbetween, where thinking and dreaming are indivisible. Rooting down the sides of my mental sofa, I feel something, reach…