:: I'm having a rough night.
I want to fly away to someplace and sit in the warm green grass, overlooking the ocean. There'll be quaint winding roads with rock walls on the sides of them -- the kind of road that you ride down on a bicycle with wildflowers in your basket. And there'll be a small, but busy little town with cobblestone streets and crooked windows and doors. There'll be old ladies in aprons and gentlemen in fedoras, smoking cigars.
It'll be the kind of place where you hear music playing (an accordian maybe), but you never can tell where the music's coming from.
Oh, and there'll be good food.
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