whirlwind days of summer

morning class. it feels like this is not part of the day, but my pre-day activity. evidently my involvement there is somewhat sub-par. on the bright side, i feel this leaves ample room for improvement.

the afternoon is aimed at the beach, but makes too many pit stops. the farmer's market, for soft fragrant peaches. samosas drip oil down our forearms and the shady parts of the curb where we sit and wipe our fingers on pavement. devin and i break into jessie's car and take the bathing suits and the snacks, head towards the pacific and only make it to front street. a woman with a belly button tattoo and a pink crop top steals a two dollar t shirt, but smokes five dollar cigarettes. we head towards the pacific, but only make it to my apartment to nap.

in the evening, we put dresses on. we walk down the street to where the boys have bottled the cider which had been fermenting surreptitiously in the basement for several weeks. we barbequed and sang songs and wrestled each other as the moon chased the sun down over the tops of pines and palms. the neighbors sighed and cooked their dinners. matt ran around still wet with a towel around his waist and daniel fell onto the pavement fault of a poorly aimed kick at the agapanthus. we drank and played dominoes until someone laid flat on the driveway and the meteors fizzed overhead. we were yelling, because volume didn't matter, and because we were together.

avocados sat heavy in the highest branches of the tree, thumping into the dead leaves in the backyard. we sat in the dark with the final of five gallons, tossing gravel onto the corrugated steel basement door. it shakes down noisy and crooked like the night, like the gravel through the atmosphere, like our evening youths, ducking and weaving towards their end.