This must be the place: I don’t want to look at the past and be sad, there were plenty of good times and more to be had

Like clockwork, the garbage truck shook me awake at 7:15 a.m. Tuesday. Picking up the dumpster from the pizza joint next door and flipping it up and over the roof of the massive vehicle.

I’m floating in the blimp a lot, I feel the feeling I forgot

I knew it was going to happen. But, I just didn’t know when it would.

This must be the place: It all comes back to you, you’re bound to get what you deserve

Opening up my email inbox last Friday morning, there was a press release from an entertainment publicist making note of the 25th anniversary that very day of Sublime’s multi-platinum self-titled album. 

This must be the place: Rolling on from town to town, been so many places, still don’t know where I’m bound

With my feet dangling out of the back window of the truck, a cool morning breeze rolled through the Tacoma and woke me up. The first thing I saw was the silent pond below the vehicle, a handful of small tents situated around the body of water.

This must be the place: The heart has its seasons, its evenings and songs of its own

Stepping into the lobby of the Days Inn just north of Carlisle, Pennsylvania, last Wednesday evening, I was immediately hit with the faint smell of cigarettes. The sign next to the front desk of the lodging establishment said “No Smoking: $150 Charge.” 

This must be the place: By now you took what was to take, tear it apart and start again

Emerging from the beer line along the top of the hill with a Fiddlehead IPA, I heard the slight sound of distortion and feedback echoing loudly from the massive stage down below.

This must be the place: Ode to Cousin Nate, ode to sharing the love of music

Nathan Manuel Arruda, age 42, passed away unexpectedly on Monday, June 28, at his place of residence in Rouses Point, New York. 

This must be the place: I awoke and faintly bouncing round the room, the echo of whomever spoke

The air was cool and the sleeping bag warm when I heard the early morning loon from across Buck Pond. 

This must be the place: White lace and feathers, they made up his bed, a gold covered mattress, on which he was laid

It was about 15 minutes into meeting Sailor Steve and Texas Jeff when I knew I’d met some of the wildest souls on this damn planet. 

This must be the place: Somethin’ keeps him driftin’, miles and miles away, searchin’ for the songs to play

I was already 10 minutes late to my niece’s seventh birthday party some 20 minutes away last Sunday afternoon. 

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