Bacchus Calling: an ode to the wayward wanderer

Some nights, it seems are better than others.  Tonight was okay but not exciting.  The wind blew fast over the tombs and rocks and roads.  We sat in an alley in a long black car.  We settled down into the seats.  My sunglasses were perched on my forehead.  The dark clouds were moving in.  They came from far away and the storm looked like a torrential sea flipped on it's head.  Here we are, in the middle of mud and rain.  For another spring, we will never sleep again.