Summer fades to fall. Fall reminds me of when I was in school. When I was in school, high school in particular, I listened to an incredible amount of ’80s Brit Pop. Ah all those Smiths tapes I still have, only recognizable because they’re the ones with the song titles and all other text completely worn off from extensive play. Although a band I’ve only immersed myself in recently, The Field Mice have a song called “Emma’s House.” It’s a fitting prelude to the forthcoming burnt leaves and soggy black earth, dark clothes kept darker by trusty hoodies.

Yeah, there are no harbors in Omaha. But I pass so many houses and apartments that are former residences of friends. I still think of these places is if my friends still lived there. Why do I call it “Emma’s House” when Emma doesn’t live there anymore? Brilliant stuff.