Sandra from Sidney and I, after tossing back an Iron City or three, wrap an arm around each other and move out onto to the dance floor, singing "Boom chicka boom, donchajustlovit" kicking high like dance hall girls, big real smiles and big real tears on our faces. Is that about a dear, shared loss, or is that about fear and triumph at avoiding being groped by tenacles? A possum who had moved into the seemingly abandoned tavern a few months ago suddenly drops from the rafters.