Cologne

The week of rough mornings is batting a thousand. The dirty clothing, which I thew on this morning after finding out with a certain jolt that I hadn't started the dryer the previous night, smelled like old cologne. To its credit, it had been sprayed with cologne weeks ago, much to my professional discredit. I can still smell it on me now, early Friday morning. It was a welcome change. It made me feel like a man, instead of just a kid. That's a hard concept to wrap my brain around, my being a man, though I know it to be all too true.

Summer is here for a day or so. Today was meant for just sitting in the heat and sweating after the fifty degree weather, and I was very happy to oblige. After bumming around in my nice clothing, some friends and I went to that new pizza place, barbecue chicken this time. If you're in the area, I implore you to go - one slice, one soda, one ice cream: three dollars. It's the best in town, and I'd hate to see it go now that I've conversed with the kindly owner.

Please be advised: jumping in freezing water because you were hot an hour or so prior isn't a good idea. The creek was a sort of hazel green. When I remember it now, its up past the shore, swollen with rain. It asks me nicely to splash, then it calls me mean names. It pushes me in. That is how the story will be told. I've learned as of late that the most refreshing things are foolhardy at times.

Borders for mom. I swear, the woman buys books to make herself cry. I bought a Creative Non-Fiction and Short Story periodicals for myself, along with another collection of what Garrison Keillor calls "Good Poems." The usual diner was after borders. Now, bed.

Regards,

Caleb

P.S. fifth column - a group of insurgents, traitors, or spies