The soft treble of the campfire crackles like a whispered greeting between strangers on a long road. Beneath it, the low bass hum of the flames settles scattered thoughts into a single warm point of stillness. This is the moment after rain has passed over Georgetown's coastal heat — when the world feels briefly suspended, and you can finally breathe. The fire holds you the way a familiar hand holds your shoulder, grounding you in the quiet between waking and dreaming.