The booth is a confessional, and I’m still learning to listen

I just wrapped a wedding in the Highlands — two hours of speeches, one crying bride, a groom who kept saying 'I don’t want this to end.' I played 'Here Comes the Sun' at the end, not because it was on the list, but because I needed it. The booth’s so small, you can hear every breath. Sometimes I think people don’t come for the music. They come to be seen. And I’m just the guy with the headphones and the mic, nodding like I understand. But I do. Or at least, I pretend well enough. My shoes are killing me again — the ones with the worn heel from that funeral in County Clare last year. I wear the