He arrives in smiles, 28 years of friendship and you never tire of the easy way he bursts into your line of vision. Not five minutes later, you are deep in discussions of everything all at once, your literary dreams building trails into the air, his voice a guide through the jungle. The fire on the back deck brings more comfort than warmth but you wrap yourselves in more layers and determine to remain out in the open.
They say with you application, send a 10-song playlist that describes you and you wonder if it's more therapy than arts residency, but you accept the terms and play the game. Remove Paul Simon, add in Regina Spektor, wonder if lyrics about failing mental health or a penchant for whisky automatically disqualifies you. Your red flags glitter in the afternoon sunlight. The road lies open at your feet.
He asks, What's your plan, then?, and for the first time in years, you're delighted to not entirely know.
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