It was late and hot - not a sidenote by any means - and the driveway seemed to be more of an island, floating somewhere in disconnected thoughts. I was eating a mango and it was a continuous past tense, there in the hot night time when everything was not not-sterile-bordering-on-a-tango.
I often chewed gum with my front two teeth then, tapped my pointer finger and rarely my pinky and the windows were always the same : remember Virginia? remember Buenos Aires? remember Rosemont/Ottawa/Chicago/Omaha/Wyoming/New Haven/Casablanca?
I fingered my mango pulp, creating obscene gushing noises that hit everyone in the Chevy that passed by. They didn't mind, it was too warm, their air-conditioning was broken and to top it all off, they were playing Jackson Browne. As for me, the glory of it all faded and I sang with the fireflies.
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