Summer Stories

I know a lot of you appreciate the magic that is a good summer weekend, so no need to cover a bunch of details and talking points here about my wood-smoke-scented, watermelon-flavored past few days. I'll just say that the backs a' my knees are sunburnt and there's sand in the bottom of my shower and there's a mountain of potato salad leftovers in my icebox and there're a bunch of new phone numbers in my tele. It's the kinda stuff you store away and use as fat to chew on later when the sun's setting at 4:30 p.m. and gray rain's a fallin.