Time is a keyhole, he thought as he looked up at the stars. Yes, I think so. We sometimes bend and per through it. And the wind we feel on our cheeks when we do it – the wind that blows through the keyhole – is the breath of all the living universe.
The Dark Tower is the Fermat’s Last Theorem of film adaptations. At least that’s what I whisper into my pillow when I cry myself to sleep.