Languid Summer Days

The clouds usually burn off by noon. If the mercury rises above 85, complaints fly and our newly finished apartment bakes right before supper.

In the meantime the soccer has finished, possibly the most exciting tournament in modern history. I'm working on a Gerries post, but until then, the days blend through sundown into nights, and I think about math.

I think about the future. I think about books and authors and films (why can't Snowpiercer be seen in Long Beach?) and sports. I think about bureaucracies and fever dreams, about bike rides on rebuilt knees, about stuffy coffee shops filled with ideas and thick odors.

I think about struggles, about the neighborhoods upon which we're trying to affect positive change. I think about projects, both physical and brainal.

I think about American soccer, about how exciting sports today in America are---except for my Yankees. Besides Tanaka, the Yanks are traveling farewell tour for their 40-year-old superstar, and then Tanaka might need Tommy John surgery, ending his year...

I think about friends, old and new, talking to them at the same time:

I think about the end of the summer, the beginning of the new gig in the new Sherweezyland, and about fresh beginnings.

I like bow-ties and not shaving; blondes in violet dresses...languid summer days...