Snowdrifts seep into boot soles as the sun slinks back into it’s cloudy refuge. Mumbling park-goers push grocery carts filled with the quoi-que-ce-soit they’ve collected in their travels. Through glass-panelled doors, the heat is a near-tropical surge of welcome, and layers of wintry obligation are peeled off and piled on a wrought-iron bench. In the dripping early hours of a muted February afternoon, two fifths of Final Flash sit, tucked into the towering greenery and domed ceilings of Alllan Gardens. The others find benches and stone ledges in the leafy sanctuary as a steady, mournful melody begins to unfold in the heat of mid-winter.
— Annie Webber