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There was a time when I lived in an apartment above an abandoned business space. The apartment leaked and let drafts in among other things, but it was my home for a time. My first summer there, I worked early morning shifts and had the afternoons off. I was not a fan of the early mornings, but loved being able to enjoy the warm summer sun. One afternoon, I lay on my air-mattress-couch with soft blankets draped over it, reading while different instrumental songs from a variety of places and times played in the background. The sun poured through the open window and warmed my skin, accompanied by the sounds of passing of traffic, pieces of scattered conversations from the occasional people below, and the rhythmic ting of metal against metal from the blacksmith hammering away down the block. Eventually a song titled Concerning Hobbits came on. The arrangement of stringed instruments, mixed with the blacksmith outside and a good book in my hands transported me to a time and place so familiar and nostalgic, yet somewhere I had never been. In that moment I felt so peaceful and calm, like all was right in my little world. For those two minutes and fifty seconds I felt like a hobbit.