You looked much the same as the day I met you--worn levis hanging tight and low against your hips, a white t-shirt unsuccessfully hiding under a mohair sweater, faded beige topsiders, and a too-close-for-young-boys haircut. You were jumping over peat moss, leading me through the moors, towards a destination of safety that I was seeking somewhere up north. I'd abandoned the vehicle at a show. My ex-girlfriend was in prison visiting her on-again off-again romantic interest, and, for some reason I was scared; but you, you were laughing and following a road that you knew too well, laughing, and jumping, and holding out a hand, and you'd been dead for years.
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Much conveyed in so few words. Very nice.
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