Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Whenever I listen to torch singers, a small fantasy forms itself in the back of my mind: I'm renting a tiny studio apartment in the village. It has a rusted fire escape. The previous tenant was an artist, or perhaps I have some artist friends who have painted murals on every wall.

There are candles burning, the moon is full and Billie Holiday is playing lazily from an old-fashioned phonograph. A bottle of red wine is sitting on the table and we (there is a we, a comfortable we) are sitting out on the fire escape sipping wine and talking about this and that.

I'm filled with a sense of peace and contentment. All is right with the world and time has slowed to a crawl.

These, and moments like them, are the moments we live for.

If this isn't nice, what is?