I love this part of the day, and I love this part of the world. As my nephew starts the process of surrendering to sleep, I am absorbed in this experience, and am taken back decades, to when I used to ride similar machines on a similar plot of land, not more than 5 miles from here.
As amazing as parenthood can be, I have been convinced for some time that our children conspire against us.
“ . . . that musty, small-town video shop set up in the dining room of an old house where someone was likely murdered.”
Sometimes a song starts as a chord that a guitar player can’t shake, or a phrase that a songwriter finds profound.
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