8:49 p.m. 83 degrees. Warm with only the slightest of breezes but not humid. A perfect summer evening to be twenty years old and in love or at least in erotic enthrallment and locked in conversation on a porch with the object of your attraction, bringing a certain Edward Hopper painting to life.
Not a bad night to be middle-aged and by yourself on a porch, drinking an iced tea.
I’m not on a porch. I’m in the car, parked in the lot at McDonald’s. But I am drinking an iced tea. Unsweetened. With lemon and two Splendas.
A pretty good night for that too.