I spend a lot of time wondering where Huey Lewis lives. Not that I am specifically out to stalk Huey Lewis. If I was going to stalk someone, it wouldn't be a B-List 80's pop star. But Huey Lewis owns a mansion somewhere near my house, so every time I see a particularly big, fancy looking gate, I wonder if this is the secret abode of Huey Lewis. The News-Cave, if you will. Today, I saw a rather impressive looking gate to a very long road, which made me think that I had found his secret base. It turns out later that I had not, but please don't let that interfere with my fantasy conversation with Huey Lewis.
So imagine that I am sitting there, looking gawky, holding up my broken bike, when Huey Lewis drives down his driveway. He stops and pauses to look at me, after all, the eccentric locals are one of the reasons all these rich people come to Montana. If I didn't play my part, they would probably have to ship someone in.
"What are you looking for, young man?"
Mr. Lewis asks.
"Is that...are you...who I think you are?" I answer, awed at his celebrity.
"Well, Mr. Lewis, I was just bicycling by...I am not some crazy stalker, but...since you are here..."
It is a very clear day out, and I can see those picture perfect snow capped peaks 50 miles away.
"On days like today, Mr. Lewis...I don't need a new drug. Everything seems so close to me, I feel like I could run run run and touch those mountains without even really trying. But everything seems so close, too, and so big: I feel like I could just sit here and stare at these leaves all day, and find an entire world in them."
"That's mighty nice, son", he says. He is avuncular, but also seems to be getting a little bored.
"Oh, Mr. Lewis, I wish you could see the town of Polaris. Its not too far from here, and they have a little tiny post office, that is just one room, and it has a little bowl of candy, and it just seems too perfect, its hard to believe something so small and so perfect could exist. And, if you were in there with someone you really liked...well, that little tiny perfect world would be even more perfect. I guess...that is The Power of Love, isn't it?" I sigh dreamily. This last speech I guess went too long, because Huey Lewis rolls up his power windows and drives away.
Back in the real world, I keep walking, down that little gravel road that runs through the uncanny valley. I get a call on my cell phone: I have no idea where the number is coming from, the area code isn't familiar. A few days ago, Qousqous called me at this exact same spot, a funny coincidence but I am not sure it means anything.
I come home, write about my nonsense fantasies, and look up the area code. Missouri, hmmm...