I'm pushing through the living room, towards the chandelier, into a mass of mouths and hands clamoring to hear all the songs I can't remember. And I'm afraid they'll swallow me if I don't find the words. The weight of expectation's loud, it's faceless but it's heard. I felt my body drifting down Portage Road, towards the sound of music on Cottage Grove. Now I'm swaying like the chandelier inside,