There’s a place right down by the waters edge where all they play is the best music ever, twenty-four hours a day and all they serve is Grandpa’s potato salad. The air around the place smells like incense and all the people you used to know are just hanging out and waiting to laugh about something. In the mornings it’s mostly foggy, but by noon most of the low hanging clouds have lifted and the sun comes out. It’s never too hot and it’s never too cold and nobody ever gets tired, but everybody always seems to sleep when they need to. It’s a real miracle sort of place where you’re always welcome and you can always alternate between drinking real cold water and real cold Cokes. Someday, I’m gonna make it there and I’m just going to ride bikes and sleep in the van and drink black coffee and smoke cigarettes. It’s gonna be real neat.