#188
At the park across town, the one near the creek that townsfolk call a river, a group of just graduated townies sit on the grass smoking Marlboros and drinking Coors Light because they all went to college at the Colorado School of Mines, which happens to be Coors town.
Their dog plays with mine in an indifferent way, which might mean they are friends, but it’s always hard to tell with poodles. Across the grass, a group has pulled out a picnic, lawn chairs, coolers. The long days mean that I forget what time it is, really, and the new meds leave my appetite at the door, so there is no cue to leave. Why would we when the air is crisp and the light slanted with golden waves?
When the townies head off to their cars, I ask about the best burrito spot in town, and they all have different opinions, but Clara, the girl, tells me the truth, and I’ll keep that to myself now, not going to spill that here, but it was a good rec that I’d never find on my own, despite my prowness in the gastro-world.
Later at home, I realize I’m out of wine, but I drink a can of tonic water and lemon while I make something light, and the buzz of a crackling night falls.
