I haven’t been able to shake this since my second viewing of Bohemian Rhapsody last weekend. It haunts, chases, torments. While showering, reading, brushing my teeth, trying to write, trying to think. It’s bad. By the way: That “ayo” moment in the AIDS clinic (as Freddie is walking out, a guy with a Kaposi’s Sarcoma mark on his forehead offers a greeting) plays stronger the second time.