So we're at Queen Elizabeth hall, watching some band called "The Little Ones," and the lead singer introduces himself and they're from LA and his lovely accent is just like butter and honey to my ears, the true sound of home. And looking at the band, it's, I'm guessing, three guys of probably some kind of Asian American background, one blonde surfer boy, one guy with brown hair - my people, basically, the folks I grew up with and lived near all my life. And then I realized - I'm not really going to fit anymore, I'm not going to be one of them, if I go back I'll always have that weird smell of the expat on me. I won't mesh; I'll have some America that's lost in the shades of history, the place I left but can never go back to, because time has been going on as it's been going forward and my place has been lost. Now I'll never have a slot for me - always a foreigner to any place I go, no longer one of any of them. And what am I to do? I can hear voices that sound like home to me, but I won't really have a home like that anymore.
By the way, the seats in this venue are totally plush - I can never remember watching a concert in such comfort. Next stop: Saint Etienne!