Here's To Summer
Summertime, and the living was easy.
Long days laying in bed, films on.
Always stays the same and nothing ever changes, the British summer rain lasted for ages. We didn't hate it, we soared above and danced in the rain, the water in our hair.
Gigs, tickets, meeting up and going to pickets. A jumble sale and two new bands, hats off to the one with no name (complete with accordionist) and the Sub-Peasants. Here's to the amazing band, Faust. Here's to my friends and my family, the ones that made summer fun. The new Pedro Almodovar film and a whole lot of fudge ice-cream.
One crap job at minimum wage for a week; words cannot describe my relief in retrospect that I quit my job, rather ungraciously with a mouth running like sewage down a gutter as I stormed out of the office, only to try and get converted by Christians on Queen Street.
Living by my wits (evidently) does not get me very far. I was a typist, I typed things, I typed documents and wasn't even given lunch breaks. Finally grasping the idea of eternal return, the summer of rage and trips to the library every weekend. Michael Muhammad Knight, Garcia Lorca, Kundera, Thomas, Hemingway, Nafisi and Omar Khayyam.
Oi Mush and music videos, the summer of rage and the summer of rain. Saying bye to old friends as they packed to go to university, saying hello to new friends who sat in the park and outside train stations. One last hello, before they go to London.
Here's to summer, because the living was easy and the living was enjoyable.
