A Friday night and I’m home on my roof top, beer between my knees and watching the clouds roll in like muddy water. My thoughts are with Joe, and getting a tattoo and Jay’s interview. He’s thrown all his chips into this and I wish I could reassure him this isn’t the last chance.
God knows how many times I have thought the fork in the road would make or break me.
Silly of me, it just makes the scenery a little different.
The smell of a grill is teasing me. I picture spatulas pressing impatiently against flattened patties of grade C “meat,” droplets of fat dripping into the coals causing flames to tickle the underbelly of beef. My mouth waters, my beer is warm. I smile.