Well, now it's warm but cloudy. Perfect reading weather really. A person could sit outside on a nice lawn chair or bench and just spend the whole day flipping through page after page of romance, thriller, sci-fi, western, or maybe all three. Sometimes I think about when I was a child and used to spend all my hours sitting at the long wooden table at the tiny library my mother worked at. She'd keep the front glass door propped open and a mild breeze would wander in. A front shop window showed people walking by, cars moving past, life in motion, country life, small town 1970's. I'd sit there all day reading whatever I could find, then maybe take a break to swat at some flies (that was my duty). If I could beg a quarter off Mom, I'd walk across the street to the soda dispenser that held frosty glass bottles of RC Cola, Grape Crush, Dr Pepper, Coca-Cola. It was good stuff.
Drinking in gulps, I would look around at the shops with their western storefronts; hardware, drug, bank, post office, grocery, American Legion. I knew every inch of that street, and all the people. I knew the spinning peppermint sign in front of the barbershop next door, and the bumpy metal steps that led up to the drugstore. I knew the wavy, lead glass and its peeling white paint. I knew the sound of the train just behind that chugged by with long breathy wails. I knew the dust and the heat and the men on the corner in their suits. And it knew me. It must. It camped inside my soul and still remains.