Most of the time, when I hear “Right Where You Left Me,” I’m sitting at that table, collecting dust. Other times I’m the other people in the restaurant, witnessing the scene, as we do when we hear the song. Embarrassed spectators, trying to eat dinner, hoping they never turn into her. But sometimes I’m the banjo. While she sits frozen, the banjo tries to warn her, telling her it’s not too late to escape, plucking that riff like it’s tugging her sleeve. Let’s go. Let’s move on. Grab the check and never come back. Run for your life. Get moving while you still can. The song ends, and we have no
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