Portland is the island on Lost. You get there, magical things happen, and you are in disbelief. You make a go of living there. Things go exceedingly well for a while, but eventually you realize time is wonky, and you must escape. You work diligently to reconnect with the rest of the world. Eventually you leave the island and get back to where you were. Then, the everydayness of your own life sinks in, and you say to yourself, “We need to go back to the island!”
Frank Chimero, For Chloe
A pair of cowboy boots stood in the hall outside the door. Keeping my feet where they were, I was just able to contort enough to reach them. I pulled them on, then line danced to the kitchen for the dustpan and broom.

Keri Maijala, Eight Legs and Cowboy Boots

This is the kind of clever, nuanced wordplay that reminds me that I have so much to learn as a writer. It takes a lot of practice and restraint to make the cowboy boots reference nonchalantly, only to bring it home with the line dancing a few sentences later, like a little surprise gift.

Sigh