It’s a Summertime Affair
Nothing says summertime like Mungo Jerry touting sex and drunk driving at high speeds over the little radio in my head as I wear a mystery Rolling Stones shirt and smoke cigarettes, unshowered, at 8:17am. Yesterday’s afternoon response to sweat dripping temperatures was the boy on his bike, at first afraid to ride down the short slope without jamming his breaks on every second, only to barrel up and down hills after an hour or so of learning to ride again all the while I did my best to help my feet remember how to hold tight to grip tape through ollies, nollies and nollie pop shove its to curb. Good times, for sure. The East Liberty kids playing basketball in a virtual army of orange, black and bouncing while a team of twenty-something mothers watched their toddlers do so on the jungle gyms of our local playground.
A bag of charcoal, some burgers (veggie and otherwise) and a six pack of Killians over cigarettes and frisbee helped the sun set over evening friends. The entire city woke up groggy from all of the enjoyment of a night of hot sleeping. Air conditioners have been turned on and jackets are only a precautionary measure at this point. The mild stink from my charming armpits mingles with the steamy too hot of a cup of green tea and my fingers remember what it feels like to clickety clack without wishing they were wearing gloves.
Happy summer to all…
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