Nobody said anything to me about it, but apparently it is.
Cornelius’s perfect comment after the break.
He was your Elvis, and when your Elvis dies, so does the private lie that someday you will be young once again, and feel at capricious intervals the weightlessness of a joy that is unchecked by the injuries of experience and failure.
In other words, you two died a bit today.
Welcome to the only game in town.