Come with me. I don’t care where we go. Some place I have never been before. Somewhere that feels familiar even though it’s new. Anywhere, it really doesn’t matter. Just away from here, where the air is choked with cigarette smoke and awful music. How does this stuff get recorded in the first place? Worse than screeching banshees, sometimes. Yes, let’s go to where the banshees come out and croon their screams…

Come away with me, and we’ll dance our way across the ocean. We’ll count stars through the cloth ceiling of a borrowed tent, and climb into the low-hanging branches of thick-trunked trees. I’ll say how it reminds me of Ireland. You’ll reach around to steady me, unnecessarily. I’ll smile.

Yes, let’s go.