Nic

I thought about you recently. I don't know why. Then I saw you today, I thought it was a woman at first but then no, it was you. You were with mike (?) that singer from Touching Mrs. Dash. His hair was floating about in it's frizzy way, gauzy in the late noon sun,the kind of light that makes everything look buttery and absolutely meltable. I love that time of day.

I would of waved but I didn't recognize you til it was too late. But I'm kind of glad I didn't. You looked happy in that way that kids do when savoring every last drop of summer vacation, sponging up the warmth and carefree attitude that speaks of sultry nights and heat baked pavement with nothing to do but buy 98 cent slushys from Cumberland Farms and watch your shadow as the sun fries your skin.

So I thought I'd say hi in this sorta anonymous way, while your eyes are growing bloodshot from starring at the artificial light of a computer screen. Maybe your reading this at the brick house (do you still go there anymore?) perhaps your in your house or maybe out somewhere else, the multiple places you could, should, and probably are.

This started out as a comment and now It's a mini essay. My finger hovers on the 'backspace' button to replace this utterly stupid unasked for rambling with a non-discript "hey". But then I think "Hell, . . . . why not?"