How Could I Forget?

The pimply-faced teenage boys sitting on the fence railing. They quickly light up a Marlboro Red to mask the undeniable scent of skunk weed.

Pre-pubescent girls skipping hand in hand down the middle of the street, singing off-key in more of a holler than a wail, the latest Pop songs, infusing a bubbly-innocent but deeply felt emotion into an otherwise bland and uninspiring chart topper. As if they truly knew what love and loss were.

The rowdy black poodle from the building over chained up to his porch at 10:30pm. He barks like the Second Coming of Christ is happening right before his eyes, and he's going to miss his ascendency because of a red nylon collar. But all that is really passing in front of him is a fat orange cat lumbering to his righful side of the street.

And herds of kids barely out of Pampers riding hot pink scooters and baby blue banana seat bikes with the white handle bar tassles and the sparkly, clinking spoke jewels. Their parents meander slowly behind them, holding hands and admiring the beautiful children they spend every waking hour thinking of, worrying about, and protecting. They can't help but to feel like the luckiest people in the world, to be surrounded by so much love and laughter.

I love late summer nights.