What would you tell your grandchildren about today, years from now?
It is Tuesday, 11:40 at night, in the hostel, and I have just put down a call with Dada in which he told me the whole 1969 moon story, and I realised I have heard it perhaps six times and this is the first time I listened. He was seventeen. I am nineteen. He was standing outside a shop, holding a bicycle wheel, listening to a radio. I am lying in bed holding a phone with more computing power than the machine that went to the moon. And, honestly, his night sounds better than mine.