Too much to think about, too much to be bothered by.
Listening to The Jayhawks and thinking back to a pre-Napster, pre-iTunes internet, when mp3's were something a bunch of German sound engineers had cooked up and were flying around under most everyone's radar. And one night in the dark of my apartment, the only light a touch lamp set to dim. The woman I was seeing was asleep on the couch by the lamp. I was waiting for a preview of tracks from Sound of Lies, the then forthcoming Jayhawks album, and of course it took forever. I had turned the volume low, not wanting to wake her. She slept on her side, her back facing out. The light was in her hair.
It seemed the height of technology. The height of love.