AllFreeNovel
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It was Denver’s title. He was our poet. The title was about being exiled—from yourself mostly, from your own life—and not coming back. Not exactly. Instead of going back to where you were, you change direction and go somewhere else, somewhere you didn’t expect to go.
Denver was pretty good at that shit.
We had a two-week lull before the new studio was ready for us to record. So the band had taken a break, and I’d brought Brit here to the beach house. When we got back, the work would begin.
“Let’s go for a walk on the beach,” I said to Brit. “Work later.”
She looked thoughtful, and her gaze traveled down me, then up again. “Are you going to wear those sweatpants?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then I’ll get dressed.”
It was the best plan I could think of. Because today spun out before us, and we could make it whatever we wanted. And tomorrow, we could make a new plan.
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