We weren’t in our right state of mind. News from the south sent us to the Bronx. On our way there our bicycle tires went flat and we ended up at a taqueria, where they used chopsticks. There, we ended up kissing but breaking off our engagement.

Champagne for no one.

We had to make due with saltines and a tin of tomato soup. Times were hard but we made the best of things. There was no weed or mushrooms either, for recreation or otherwise–hell, there were no plants at all. So we sat around the campfire, the five of us, reminiscing about the times when we had so much at our disposal: the internet, fatty foods, diet colas, condoms, sapphire diamonds.
But to have warmth and friends was something we didn’t appreciate until now, with so little time left on this earth. It was always snowing and it seemed like it would never stop.
One of our more optimistic friends said that snow meant water, at least.  We could at least stay hydrated, if not warm, for the moment. And she kept having to repeat that as our teeth chattered more and more, as we huddled so close to the campfire that we knew–just knew in our hear of hearts–that we would eventually burn.

Burn: imagine that: burn as the world froze.

“I like baseball in my tea,” I told the shortstop when he came over for tea.
He thought I was flirting with him. He blushed. I apologize and clarified that I was being metaphorical. He didn’t seem to like that either. Finally I was like hey, “You’re an old man and I’m not attracted to you.”

But that didn’t make him feel any better either.  I gave up and drank my tea.

Soloists gathered in the lawn to perform. They could not decide who would perform first. This was a last minute gig and neither of the soloists knew each other.
The only one who seemed to have an sense at this time was a young dog name Ray who went around sniffing them out and deciding on the lineup.
The soloists agreed this made sense.
They played until the afternoon. About twenty people showed up, some even bringing blankets and covert wine.
The soloists considered it a success and quickly disbanded after the last performance since there was no money to be disbursed. It was a free gig. But as Ray the Dog would say, A gig is a gig.

I hid in the barn behind the stacks of hay. They came in a moment later. I listened to their discussions. They talked for almost an hour. They talked about the weather, baseball, their favorite hitters and pitchers, the World Series.
Then they stopped talking about all that and they started kissing. I was embarrassed and felt that I should leave. But I couldn’t or else they would discover me.

So I stayed and prayed they would not go any further than kissing.

They did.