Summer

It’s the first south seas day of the year in San Diego. Down in Mission bay dolphins are leaping into the air, all in celebration of me. The sun lingers on, refusing for so long to go down, then takes a bow when I’m not looking. Suddenly we’re in shadow. Driving home I stop at a liquor store and grab the first six-pack I don’t recognize. Driving down the alley I twist a cap off, spilling a little over, taking an enormous swill as I slow-ride in second down the alley. The car putters itself out, she knows that it’s twilight too. I park, swing my arms around, yell in the night, offer the neighbors a beer. She refuses and slinks away, thinking I’m a madman. If she only knew!

It is the day before the solstice and I am feeling evangelical, a cleric of Gilgamesh, chanting forgotten Babylonian syntax, phrases from dead languages, odes to Dionyses and Orpheus.

I’m drinking my beer straight from the bottle which I haven’t done in way too long. It’s a pale ale from nor cal, a bit mellower than Sierra, and it’s very good. I could have the whole sixer save of course the one Jen drank, and on the other hand I could stop at two. I’ve never been a man who needs to drink but I’ve always been a man who wants to drink. Life is too short to be a drug addict, sex addict, coke fiend, pot head, alchoholic. Funny how you get a label if you specialize. Personally I’d rather do a little of each, as mostly dance on the furniture and celebrate the top of the curve, slope equals almost zero, summer’s eminence.

- M. Oropeza

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