Hippies
Sitting at Lost Camp with Moth, Fabio, SpiderMonkey, and Shaggy. Too much salt in the gruel. Everyone talks of Colorado and the Rainbow Regionals.
I trade a wooden butter knife for a strong needle and some twine. Sew the seams shut on my pants, resew the back right pocket.
I feel like a hippie: sitting on a green inflatable mattress sewing my filthy torn pants in the woods while Jamaica makes stew from potatoes, green onions, and rice. He pours a solid splash of Fat Tire Ale into the stew pot. Shaggy complains just to complain. Poor Moth takes it all personally because he doesn’t recognize his own anger.
We leave tomorrow in the Party Van--a blue Astrovan with a mattress and box springs in the back. Eight of us, and me the only female.
I trade a wooden butter knife for a strong needle and some twine. Sew the seams shut on my pants, resew the back right pocket.
I feel like a hippie: sitting on a green inflatable mattress sewing my filthy torn pants in the woods while Jamaica makes stew from potatoes, green onions, and rice. He pours a solid splash of Fat Tire Ale into the stew pot. Shaggy complains just to complain. Poor Moth takes it all personally because he doesn’t recognize his own anger.
We leave tomorrow in the Party Van--a blue Astrovan with a mattress and box springs in the back. Eight of us, and me the only female.