It is love bug season again in Florida, where they flock to the windshields of the world to die by the dozens. I wince at each small pop, cringe at the light going out as life comes and goes so quickly, again again again...
Love like life is fickle, love like life is cold-- even here in warm Florida summers-- Even here, where the bugs flock at ninety miles an hour down this dark stretch of I-75. Coming to love, coming to live, sweeping out into the street, pop, pop, pop. wrong place, wrong time. again again again...