Last night I was out with a friend. We were drinking in this pub in the village, and the place was dead. Dead of anything. No people in there. No sport on. No music playing. But we drank Guinness and the conversation came. We talked about sport, and politics, and the evolution of the English Language, and how Tolkien's work is concerned with this. We both liked Tolkien. So did the girl behind the bar. Yeah, it was that dead. Finished the night with Makers Mark and ice.
I walked back down a broad, tree-lined street and felt at home.