Sometimes I want to walk around the backyard barefoot, shorts on, my linen shirt unbuttoned to mid-chest, with a smoke dangling from my lips and a cold one in my hand while hitting Wiffle balls for the dogs to chase. On these days my 5 o’clock shadow is probably the sexiest and most dangerous thing to ever happen on my quiet suburban block, just ask my nosey shut in of a neighbor, I caught you looking Ms. Wilkins, drink it the Fuck up you cat loving minx.
During these occasional lapses in judgment and hygiene there is a buzz that builds up in my head, usually low and soothing at the start and eventually turning into a full riot of energy, madness, spins, fainting, and sex; followed by shame, my dogs looking at me cross and needing to purchase new cushions for the lawn furniture.
Since I have...
