When I heard a few months ago that Amy Winehouse had botched up her concert in Zagreb, where she had fallen off the stage before she even started singing, I was quite surprised. “What,” I told my friends, “she ain’t dead yet?” I would not be able to recognize her voice, but I knew enough about her forsaken ways from the newspapers I occasionally browse through halfheartedly. When I learned last night that she was found dead in her London apartment, I was taken aback. I felt a bit guilty of foresight, I guess. “It was only a matter of days, anyway,” my apprehension was assuaged at once by my friends. And so I feel relieved. As it turns out, I was far from alone to be surprised by her last few ventures into the limelight. Still, it is good to jot all of this down as quickly as possible so as to wash my inadvertent foresight away.