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Alive or dead, we’re all looking for our own piece of the world to haunt. Some yearn for the clammering hights of the city while others want only space and solitude. My spot was forgotten by everyone but me. It’s up a mountain, away from hustle and bustle and life and lets me be alone with the world. Alone with my thoughts and reflections. Alone with my memories slowly twirling to the tune of old jazz on the record player. Alone. I like it that way. Or maybe I can’t imagine my life any other way. But “life” isn’t the right word, is it? Because I’m not alive. Not in the deep-breathing, heart-beating,