The rhythmic slap of bare feet on pavement is only interrupted by the occasionally displaced pebble, burrowing its way into feet that are new to a summer world in which shoes are merely a nuisance. The warm air boasts happiness and our awkward voices feverishly press against it with the saddest songs that come to mind; it is an obscene combination.
While our voices remain coherent our minds are anything but, they are rambling and running across foreign thoughts, thoughts that were dangerous to our well being only a sunset ago. The pavement is still hot on our feet, cautiously reminding us that we were not so bold several hours ago, and in another few hours, we will return to the world of the meek. We haphazardly spill our ninth and tenth drinks down our grass-stained summer clothes and onto our bare legs creating watermarks of dust and vodka. The vodka moves our hearts to our sleeves and that is just the way we like it, entirely vulnerable in the embrace of the summer we love.
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