I am listening to Arcade Fire, which I rarely do anymore because I love them so much, but I needed them this afternoon, as my sun's moonbeams blasted through cloudless blue and I searched for a creative spark to burn my imagination, but am frustrated as I keep trying to crank Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) louder; piano tinkling down pathway and the rhythm section trying so desperately to catch up and Win Butler's joyously somber voice racing toward home as the two lovers search for each other from bedroom tunnels and the goosebumps Mount Everesting up my arms, and I am checking my bag to see if I threw in some loudspeakers and I didn't so I'll have to stick to these stupid headphones and my foot is knocking a hole in the coffeehouse floor trying to keep up with the onslaught of drums and circus of instruments thrown into a maelstrom of love and now my phone is ringing loud so I am irritated, and so are the people at the next table as I almost let it go to my full voicemail but it is my bride, the Countess, 

and I miss her terribly so I am done working, I am going home, I wanna tunnel, and I want to race with her underground, from our hideaways, and I am so blasted happy to still be in love. I am going home, to play it properly, very loud, and dance. And our children will roll their eyes, all their lives, at us. Deal with it kids. We are young lovers in love.

Arcade Fire
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)

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