Do I chase the night or does the night chase me?
On a night when I meet a friend at Laura Lee's - a mere 48 hours after the Elbys - staff and a few customers are still talking about their hangovers the day before. Some would say that's the sign of a good party.
While we necessarily spend some time covering the Elbys and aftermath, our primary purpose is a tad more self-involved since we haven't talked in a couple of weeks. Every friendship has its own frequency level and figuring out where that is provides part of the pleasure of making new acquaintances.
With a mix unexpectedly heavy on Fleetwood Mac, we devour mussels and sausage, salads and Syrah as parents with a screaming child try to eat in the dining room and cyclists arrive with lights so bright a bar sitter signals them to make it stop.
It all feels very southside neighborly.
And, for us, friendly. Tales are swapped about out-of-town excursions, costuming assistance is requested and the handsomest beard in the room and I delve deep into why everyone should see "Moonlight," which he watched while in full blown hangover mode.
But the best conversations come later - melody or lyrics, which reigns supreme? - over wine and set to a dash of the Grateful Dead by way of the National to start things off, and then followed by the Decemberists and St. Paul and the Broken Bones.
What better soundtrack to consider the elephant in the room and whether it's a Sri Lankan or Borneo variety? Inquiring minds want to know.
There is nothing better than a friend, except a friend who tells you what they're thinking. Way up in the sky, I can see that you want to.
Never underestimate the value of a well-placed lyric.
Let's just say I rarely have any problem sharing what's on my mind and leave it at that.