This song feels like midnight in a strange city. Strangers pass and you tell yourself stories so that any lingering fear will not cling. You tell yourself stories of past loves and past lives, and the things that still attach to your soul.

You take it all in, the sound of heels, yet to be well-worn, click click clacking on the pavement, the whoosh of tires peeling by as they make a tight corner, and you shrink to one side without blinking, the image of faces on the other side of hazy glass barely making an impression.

What stories do the strangers make up about you? The red dress borrowed from a girlfriend who wore it when she decided to give him another chance. The hair, she seems nervous as she messes with it, trying to twist it up into a clip, than letting it fall only moments later.

Which becomes the truth, the stories or the night’s real events? Do we all exist somewhere inside the in-betweens of consciousness and make-believe? This song makes me want take to the concrete, embracing the unknown, to write about it all in the context of a postcard, a matchbook, a love letter. This song, it reminds me of you.