I'm going to get me a gold record baby/ 24 Karat hi-fi
Amherst, Mass., Friday night on a good night, stepping out in front of cars in this state just because you can. You never can underestimate the pedestrian, always with the right of way. I remember the last time I was in Massachusetts, with my sister, she would continually forget that you had to stop for people in the crosswalk, nearly running people over, were it not for my shrill reminders. In New York, motorists have the right to run you down and it’s just right and natural that as you’re proceeding forth in your oversized SUV you obey the right to crush jaywalkers like insignificant bugs. But not here, in Amherst, Ma., where you can dangle your toe out onto the pavement from the sidewalk and traffic comes to an abrupt halt. It’s kind of nice. And this town happens to be nice in all the ways that sleepy towns with liberal arts colleges at the outskirts are.

Everybody seems to be out tonight. We have made our collective way through the chasm, and have arrived here, to soak in the good weather of this night, wind blowing through your hair. And every girl is beautiful. The kind of girl who makes it proof positive that your there-is-no-god-and-it’s-pointless-and-grim stances crumble like some weak edifice. And the band’s not half bad, either. The singer keeps singing, “I’ve got my hands full,” which seems true of most people. Except me, of course, who is only holding a beer can. But that’s totally empty.