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It’s 1980, and Ringo is happy. The barrage of interviews and cameras aren’t so annoying with Barbara by his side. Before he can scoff at more “fans” who only care about his history as a Beatle, Barbara wraps her hands around his arm, her soft touch a reminder of what really matters.
Because to her, he’s not Ringo Starr—he’s Ritchie.
In the age of selfies and snaps, of protests and pandemics, it’s easy to fall apart. But as Ringo sits at home with Barbara hugging his arm as always, everything feels alright.
It’s 2020, and Ringo is still happy.