Almost The End Of August

Soon the woods will smell of burning twigs, and the ashes of a pine tree that was borne when Abraham Lincoln was president.

But in the meantime it's still warm in the afternoon, and the goldenrod wavers softly.

It reminds me of a day at Rye Playland near the end of the twentieth century, when we spent the day on the beach and the evening in the amusement park. I told Joy that if I took her there, two things would happen. First I would win her a tacky prize in the arcade. And second she would get groped in the tunnel of love. I made good on both promises.

Sorry Joy, but it's one of my favorite memories!

One Day Closer To Autumn

The air is still steamy, but there was a change in the light today. It was a little clearer, a little brighter, a little less like something seen through a muddy telescope. The air conditioner is humming again, but I was able to shut it off for about twenty four hours, til late this afternoon. The end of summer is finally in sight.

Emily likes the heat even less than I do, which always makes me laugh since she's nowhere near my bulk. She's lying on the bed wearing jean shorts and a tank top, her sandals are tucked neatly under the edge of the bed. Her hair is in a ponytail and she's wearing silver earrings shaped like sunbursts. It occurs to me that I've never seen her in shorts before, and now I wish I had!

Earlier we took a walk up Henry Street. One of the guys smoking cigarettes outside the Henry Street Ale House looked at us and smiled, offered me a high five. I was gonna ignore it, but Emily said, "Damn Jim, he's saying I'm hot! So slap him some!" I did. Cos she is!

When we got back here, with two pints of ice cream, Emily took the bowls off the shelf and began scooping. In my entire sixty seven years on this planet I have never known anyone who likes ice cream as much as Emily does.

And now she's sleeping, with an ice cream smile on her lips and the Skunk sleeping on her tummy. I love her, and I love him, and if that ain't happiness, well then, there ain't no such thing!

August 13th
My father would have been 99 today, had he not drunk himself to death at 72. He was borne on Friday the 13th, but that still doesn't excuse what he did. Hope he is paying for it now. Goodnight.
I survived you, asshole!

August is the birthday

It's the birthday of  too many people who mean less than nothing to me. Walking up and down Sixth Avenue back in the bad old days, when the hookers owned the West Side Highway and the chance for redemption lived somewhere south of The Ramrod.

My dad would swear that didn't  matter to him, but if you believe that, cover your asshole!

My so-called friend  Mindy borrowed tons of cash, GFY Whore! Yeah, the world is only six thousand years old, but where does the Bibble say you can rip off your friends?

No comment, no surprise. Do not EVER contact me again!

August Is Breathing Down Your Neck

The waves are growing cooler. Not cold, but not warm like last month, when the sun made all the difference. The sand feels gritty underfoot, and the Sun looks like it's shrinking smaller every night, in the west. Soon enough Orion will rise, and the beaches will be empty, and lonely. It all reminds me of a night more than forty years ago, when we kissed under the maple tree by the old wooden bridge over the bay, hating that when dawn came you would be gone.

And later you came back, but it didn't change anything.