I bought the album as if I had a record player to play it on. As if there were no distractions.
I put it in my stereo, put my headphones on, laid back with my arms up on the couch, and closed my eyes, listening. I was taking myself back to a time. Back to a time where I would never live, to a place where I had a pile of carpets and maybe even a fireplace. A place where I would lay on the floor on a pile of pillows. (They would have tassles on all four corners) And I would lay alone, my only goal to listen to the Byrds or to Gram Parsons all night long. Eyes still closed I would imagine the times I had read about them in the paper, or perhaps even met them. Satisfaction and happiness would wash over me, for I appreciated every strum, note, and lyric. And every letter that streamed out was spoken only to me, entering my ears, down my throat and into my stomach, sitting there digesting, sending the blood up into my heart. Simplicity at its most fulfilling.
My mind wanders between now and then, between the past that was never my past, and the present that isn't really my present either. But for now, the sound makes it start to feel like it is.
"So take me down to your dance floor / And I won´t mind the people when they stare / Paint a different color on your front door / And tomorrow we will still be there"