Write

It was late, and all the old songs had been sung. Much of the sweet red wind had been drunk. We sat in the desert on that little peak that looked down over the town. The moon was full and for a few minutes everything seemed like it did the last time we were up there, which had to have been thirty years ago. Sam and Richard went off to look for some dry scrub to make a little fire. I looked at the lights below, thinking about old times, back when the band was together. I nodded out for awhile, dreaming of Africa, of sleeping on other landscapes. I awoke with CJ, Sam's doberman, licking my face.

But it was getting cold, and I was starting to wonder where the guys had gone. I could no longer even hear their voices, cheerfully snarking on each other, bringing up incidents from way back when. Younger and stupider times, somehow missed.