July 3, 2012
Tonight it's a bag of chicken spinach florentine, as I listen to the slow crescendo of fireworks outside. I thought about Christopher during the ride back to my car. It was a brief time period nine years ago, now. Whenever he invited me over, I was always free to make a drink. In the freezer sat the frosted bottle of Absolut Citron; cranberry below. A Norah Jones CD decorated his coffee table. Exiting the bus, the air was rich with rain and mineral. Five-foot tall species of weeds, in unkempt landscaping beds, released a perfume of hot mint.