"Like being lost in a dense forest, the light slowly fading, the path becoming increasingly choked. It is a claustrophobia that previously only existed in nature, a kind that is becoming rarer and rarer as we humans carry our ugly sprawl to each corner of the globe. And that idea is just as terrifying as being stranded in a forest — if not more so. Which is why, though it's a minor album, The King of Limbs is still a major accomplishment — evoking emotions that powerful and primal isn't exactly easy to do."

The warm weather draws out those who have walled themselves in their apartments. I walked to Polish Hill yesterday. I read on Mind Cure's facebook page, "It's a perfect day for a walk to the record store. We've got our windows open, and we're blasting Motorhead." I walked across the bridge. A walkers lane runs adjacent to the four traffic lanes. I heard someone running behind me and stepped aside. She stomped forward in shorts, white earbuds in her ears. A black man in camouflage stood at the end of the bridge. I nodded and smiled at him.

I walked the backstreets in Polish Hill. Row houses stand somberly over the pot-holed streets. The warm weather brought them out. A greek-looking man in his forties conversed with an old woman with a scratchy throat. A man and his wife fiddled with tools, fixing up an old car. A man tossed a soccer ball to his daughter, who looked at me anxiously. I smiled at him also. The sun hung over the hill - it was welcomed.

I fingered through records. A man walked in a took a picture. "For my mother; she'd love this place." He took a shot, I felt myself captured in an image. "This one is great," he said, and walked out. I purchased a George Harrison record, and a Kurt Vile LP. The girl at the cash register was reading a book titled "Lemmy." "His blood would kill a man," it read. He was the lead singer of Motorhead.

"How many Motorhead albums have you listened to today?"

"Only two. I don't usually get a lot of time in silence, so when nobody is here, I like to sit in quiet."

On my way back, I heard a door open and a guttural sound. I turned around. AK. Ross' friend. I stopped and had a cigarette with him. We shot the shit for a while. His neighbor strolled out. He told me about a music video he shot with his band in an old warehouse filled with dead animals. "It's an old haunted hotel."

I walked back. On the bridge, I crossed a guy that DJs for 80s night at Belevedere's. "DJ Hates You." I smiled at him aslo.

When I got back to the apartment, I put on the records, drank a few beers, and ordered Chinese. A good day. A real good day.