it is a summer day.
the kind of summer day where you are still comfortable wearing jeans, though.
the kind with a brisk breeze, gusting even, that whips through your car and throws your hair in your face while you are driving to work with the windows down, listening to michael franti and spearhead testifying:
what i be / is what i be
the kind of summer day that inevitably recalls white rock lake, a toyota corolla (or was it a camry?), music loud enough to strip your skin, and becky.
i miss you window-washer, sometimes so much i can taste it!