I dropped by to see if anyone was in the Pundy House tonight. The place is empty. The party has moved on. That's good. Faint echoes of laughter.
Have a few drinks on my own. Put on a Joan Baez cd; a few more drinks; a fatal exit into the past.
That woman has the voice of an angel. Everything I ever wanted in my youth is captured in that voice; everything unattainable; every dream I ever had; every sleepless night longing to be invited to that secret magical party. Such beautiful melancholy.
I have to smile. It hasn't been too bad when all is said and done.
Time to put the lights out. This house already has its ghosts. Beautiful ghosts. That's good. I love the place. When it echoes with laughter there's nowhere better. Next week we'll have a party.
Just like Gatsby. Everyone will come. We'll find whatever we are looking for. I guess.