Tender Moment at the Gates of Hell

I stopped to water the Scout on the way home the other evening, and I have to say I was proud to be able to produce urine. It was so hot I was drinking water instead of soda and had passed up a beer despite the temptations of Frizz.

I wasn't just drinking water, I was sucking it down at a pace that could affect policy decisions. Well over a gallon in the 13 miles home. Which meant, instead of worrying about heat stroke in the 100-ish temperatures, I had to worry about where to relieve myself.



There is an outhouse by the skate park, but if there's one thing worse than a johnny on the spot that's overdue for a pumping out, it's that same porta-potty in the middle of a brutal hot spell, at the end of a 3-digit day. Better to piss on the statue.

And is if I weren't there, this couple passed me carrying a blanket and small picnic kit. And then they sat down to enjoy the view as if it weren't hotter than a Rhode Island White Snake concert.

Here's to love. Reminds me of things that have driven me to ride levies in the dark in the middle of winter.