The tape deck is playing, as usual. But this time the sound of the electric instruments and drums encroaches upon my recent experience of whispering trees and singing birds. My friends, sitting in the car, doors open, seem not to mind what they are missing, as they subtly bob up and down to the rhythm of their 'favorite' song. Exhaled smoke slowly creeps out of the car into the open air. Disappointment. "If only they had been there to share in my experience." Guilt.