The Sweet Spot

“Come stand in the sweet spot.” She said.

She had a pair of speakers standing tall in her living room, one on each side of her fireplace. On the mantle was the random assortment of knick-knacks that I imagined mirrored her thoughts.

She grabbed my hand and picked me off the couch like a feather. Between the speakers was the kind of heaven you have to have a more sensual mind to imagine.

“Hey.” She said, and pulled my shirt collar closer to her chest.

“I like this song,” she went on, pulling my waist towards her.

My head was breathing in an intoxicating mix of shampoo and smoke when her hands found my chest and asked, “Do you know this song?”


“Do you know it?” She nodded her head and her eyes grabbed just the right amount of shine from the light.

“I don’t think I do.” I stumbled.

“It’s ‘If I needed you’ by Townes Van Zandt. I’ve always wanted to be buried to this song.”


“Nothing.” She pulled away from me and sat on her couch. She easily reached towards the table to her cigarettes and lit one.

“It’s nothing.” She exhaled. “There was always just a sense of insecure longing in this song. It made me want to be buried to it.”

I said nothing.

“It’s a good song.” I said after a while.

“Yeah, I guess.”