After three days at ten thousand feet the sounds become clearer. You begin to really hear the world around you. The buzz of the transformer as you smoke your last cigarette. The way the wind works its way through the trees. It’s as if you can tell how tall the trees are, how many leaves are on each branch solely through the sound.

Then quickly and slowly all at the same time, after fighting and dancing and fighting with the bumps of the double yellow line, the weight of Boulder returns and sits heavily on your shoulders. You fall back into the sterility of the place you call home and you no longer find comfort in familiar faces but rather your reality distorted.