Find him.

I flew to Little Rock today, and I was thinking.
I was thinking, as I landed with the setting sun at my back, if I knew anyone in Little Rock. I think Eddie and Miranda are in Little Rock.
So then I thought about telling you that I'd been to Little Rock today, and the fact that my feet really didn't touch the ground there. I didn't even breathe Little Rock air.
Does it count?
Everything seems weirdly surreal in an airplane.

So then, as I flew back home (twice as slowly, with the wind from the front this time) in the dark, staring at the lights illuminating what I couldn't see but what I assumed to be houses.
And I came to the conclusion that it means nothing at all.

The most concrete thing about the trip is the permanent ink in my log book, or maybe how some disembodied male voice asked me to relay a message to the guys at Riverside.
"Tell 'em Nick said 'hi.'"