A dusty roadmap from the 70s, street names fading into the hills and valleys they belong to. Grainy memories on film stored in a box under your bed, retrieved with a cold one in one hand and your loved one in the other.

Neon lights in shop windows and the old Cadillac hiding under the sheets in your garage. The flannel your mom wore when she met your dad, back in the good old days. The kinda stuff that tells stories from a different era to the ones willing to listen.

A story of nightfall and the last light of day. Haze, the glow of lanterns against freshly fallen snow. Blue hour. The silhouette of pines against a starless sky. Finding comfort in darkness, the unknown. Raindrops on the kitchen window, thunder in the distance. Fog covering the town like a blanket. Silence, and still:

Let's have a look at how
I can serve

you.

You are heard here.

You are seen here.