It’s funny how a friendship can contain two distinct and unique relationships. In the loud and sweaty physical, Sell and Milliken destroy language with intentionally cumbersome tongues and chase seagulls into the brick sides of parking garages, then are contrite. In the quiet and ongoing phenomenological discussion between kindred souls, however, these two apparent buffoons have together explored—in story and in song—the perdurable aches and pitfalls of loving right and loving wrong and, worse yet, not loving at all no matter the effort, will, and cost. And over the course of more than a decade, each helping the other with his internal and external work, it’s inevitable that the discrete worlds each has created overlap to become one. In their first-ever unified narrative effort, Sell and Milliken combine their stock of down-and-out and sometimes lucky characters into a coalescent shape. Eleven songs. Eleven stories. One singular world of yearning and fear. Where eagles mate in mid-air. Where the cows have annexed the living room. Where the farthest ferry runs and all roads at long last mercifully end.