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Here’s the deal, though—ain’t all fun and games. Gets lonely, like Bob and Charlotte, starin’ out windows. I’d be thinkin’, “Joe, what’re ya doin’ here?” Maybe I’d buy her a drink instead—y’know, just talk. “Lost in Translation” style—two souls, passin’ ships. “Can I tell you a secret?” I’d ask, like Bob does. She’d prob’ly say, “Only if it’s good, old man.” Ha! Fair enough.

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The center? Why, there's Main Street – a meandering road, lit with neon dreams and secret corners. Down by Old Mill Lane, thou shalt spy a gnarled tree that whispers stories old as time. I swear, as a pleasure coach, I feel each leaf’s vibration, each echo of lost laughter – "As the blind dead stars gaze at the night," I muse in homage to yon White Ribbon.

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