Some place easy some place slow
I like a little day drinking in the summer, slow and easy, being not drunk but not exactly sober. And then driving home there’s really great music on the radio.
I think about how small pleasures like the radio are fading fast and I hope other small pleasures like this replace it but I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just getting old right. Our elders probably thought the same thing?
But what if the days of small pleasures, of little treasures, are as old as us. What if they die with us.
No that’s silly. I’m just old now. This is the way. This is the way.