She asked me what I do for a living; I asked her if she liked Seedy Friedrich. ‘They’re my favourite band’, she replied. She was hip to the Twelfth Night quotation of An Apple Cleft in Twain, she was hip to the pun on Caspar David. It turned out she also loves the mysterious landscapes of the great German Romantic, the radical subjectivity of his lonely wanderer that Gram so ravishingly turns into song. And thus, my love, a moment of grace between your wanderer and a sister of mercy allowed me to believe I was more than a ghost.