Driving out of the valley into the mountain pass in the waning daylight felt like an entirely different experience, and though the vestiges of a tingle remained from the omens and danger we had seen and experienced on the camping trip, it was actually an enjoyable journey back through the mountain highways. We were even able to sing loudly over the rush of wind from the lowered windows, though never on key. Well, my singing was never on key. Hers was always spot on. Steph had a voice for radio, seductive, warm, sexy, and siren-like, and she could sing even better, when the mood overtook her. She had grown up singing in a singing family, like the Partridges, though not as ginger. So when she sang, it was a wonderful sound, and she sang a lot on that ride back through the mountains. And this is where it started, after our guard had lowered. There came a chime emanating from her handbag, tucked away under camping gear in the backseat, and it was persistent, ringing often enough under the blow of the wind that I had to find it and come to terms with its insistence.
What do You think about My Heart Is A Drunken Compass?
