with a mouthful of salt water…
the bastard wondered to himself…
I should do this more often.
then I punched myself in the neck.
I say this every year when I have that one decent beach day when no one has to die.
but this year was different…
I actually meant it.
after we left long beach after what could be considered a successful and incident free trip…
the bastard took a nap…
made some cheese grits…
and grilled a couple rib eyes.
and all was good.
you see…
my summer ended when the boy went home…
but for a day at the end of all things summer…
it rallied…
and it was good…
the rib eyes were medium rare for those who give a damn.
—the bastard
