THE THINGS THAT HAPPENED WHILE I WAS SERVING PIZZA BESIDES SERVING PIZZA

This summer tasted like cheap wine and hard liquor without chasers and also giant green juices full of kale and it smelled like cigarettes, train stations, and pizza. It felt like kisses and a tossing stomach and sore achy legs and like growing up. It looked like sunsets and mountains and city streets and the best smile I have ever seen. It sounded like drink orders and hour-long phone calls, folk music and live music and my littlest brother and laughter, a lot of laughing. It was sudden rain and too much coffee and missed busses and rushing to trains and the incredible relief of falling into “the big comfy couch”. It was needing to scream and writing long rambling rants and depositing large checks. It was big plans, bookstores and breakfast delivery. Board games and floor beds. Antique stores and analyzing the zodiac. It was so many movies, a couple at a drive in theater, and it was some especially dense popcorn and singing along to the radio and shopping alone. Strange dreams, stick and poke tattoos in Tandy’s kitchen, sitting by the Morin’s pool and snipping all my hair off. It was a couple retrogrades, a rope swing, and reuniting. Rethinking and a harbor island rendezvous and did I mention rain? There was a lot of rain, and it disturbed a lot of plans but it always stopped eventually, and by the time it did, everything seemed to have already worked itself out and all was left feeling new and refreshed and so am I.

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