i remember saying to dad i felt the spirit of place, in some places.

he's like, i don't know what you mean, and his eyebrow cocks like i feel mine sometimes do with a shudder of self-contempt. 

and i'm like, i know you don't feel it, i think that's why a said it, why i keep on saying it. so why do i feel stupid sitting in front of you on this low stool.

i'm thinking on the point today, i'm sorry dad, you didn't feel the spirit of some place. but i know he must of, he just wanted to see me wriggle, he must have felt it, somewhere sometimes, maybe on the cape, like he must have felt an ineffable love of the immigrant, some spontaneous unbidden sometime.