Semisonic’s “Closing Time” faded. Lights flicked on. The bartender collected our empties and told us to “Make like a tree and leave.” We slid off our stools and staggered outside. Not ready for the party to end, we yanked off our work boots, peeled off our sweaty socks, and buried our bare feet in the soil. Leaves sprouted on our arms and on the tops of our heads. Our skin hardened into bark. Zigzagging roots grew out of our toes, forever grounding us at the dive bar’s side. We drank moisture from the Earth, and the party continued and continued for decades’ worth of rings.