Now it all started four Thanksgivings ago – four years ago on Thanksgiving when Birmingham was visiting me in my apartment, but Birmingham didn’t live in the apartment, he lived in Poughkeepsie, in a house with his parents, and his sister, the doctor. And livin’ all the way up north like that, it was a special occasion when he would come and visit the apartment I lived in. Havin’ all that time together, seein’ as how I wasn’t meeting my parents for dinner until the afternoon, we decided that we could sit and listen to Arlo Guthrie on the radio. 
Now friends, being only three months since Birmingham and I starting dating, and being the consenting adults that we were, there was only a few things we coulda done at my apartment, and the first was we could have sat there quietly contemplating the brave honesty of the music, which wasn’t very likely, and it’s kind of a silly song anyway, and the other thing we could have done was fall asleep and miss most of the song in the vicinity of two minutes into the song, which is what I expect will happen this year, but there was a third possibility that I hadn’t counted upon, and that was spending the entirety of the song consenting. You know what I mean. And I said, “Birmingham, I don’t think I can meet my parents with this afterglow on.” He said, “Shut up, kid. Come back to bed.”
That’s what we did, and then I met my parents at the restaurant and we had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat. And when I think of them twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each was, I think of what I’m thankful for most, and that’s the time I get to spend with my friends and family and listening to that song on the radio every year at noon. And Alice. Remember Alice? It’s a post about Alice.
