The rest of the night sped by in a blur, most of it talking to George and Irini, other family members who would join us for a while, an endless banquet of Greek food, all coming with an accompanying lengthy description from George, a flowing stream of wine, tsikoudia, and the night culminating in rembetika, Cretan songs played by three of George’s male cousins, two playing the lyra and one the bouzouki and singing and people dancing in lines and in circles and I remember George dragging me into the melee, me on drunken legs and unfamiliar with the Greek way of dancing and I recall turning to see Irini singing and clapping along and she smiled and laughed as I kicked up my legs badly compared to the expertise of the other men and soon I was retreating back to the table for more tsikoudia but clapping along enthusiastically as if every song and every note was a part of me until some Godforsaken early morning hour when despite George’s attempt to make me stay in a room above the restaurant I opted to walk home, feet crunching ice underfoot and an unsure tsikoudia balance that failed several times my behind slamming onto the concrete sidewalk, laughter, marching on again with frosty breath and head swirling clear skies above to the most glittering and dizzying constellations guiding me homeward I believed, eventually stumbling into my apartment and with my clothes still wrapped around I fell into my bed with alcohol in my blood but peace in my heart.