On a wood slat bench near City Park Lake, I blew dusk into darkness on clouds of an exhausted Cohiba. Dry, starless, midwestern summer shadows sound like one-handed applause wrapped in padded outrage. A rogue drake stirs unseen behind nearly visible bushes at the water’s edge. The rest of the tacet brood turn condescending beaks at his faux pas.
It is the silence of trespassing, disregarding closing time, defying petty ordinance to the tune of two frogs and windsong. The empty side of my lips curl in half a smile. The appall in a proper rent-a-cop would be irreverently rewarding.
Life doesn’t get any better than this… At least it feels so now in the dizzy, near fainting, larger-than-normal **** on a larger-than-normal cigar. Regardless, it’s a fine moment in time.