“do these look like grilling sandals?”

An ode.

I have something else coming to subscribers this week about Top Gun: Maverick. Until then, this short little thing I wrote about summer.

I had a lemonade two weeks ago that was $4 dollars — boo, hiss, tomato tomato, recession incoming — but I had to have it because it tasted like summer. Saturday morning I spent an hour reading in the sun, alternating between water-water and my special summer patio-water (lime Ondas). Later I had approximately three margarita-ish things in Fort Greene with friends. The next day I saw two Michael Mann movies in a row.

Once a year, I am entitled to write something entirely aimless about how much I love summer. That partly a cop-out: if I acknowledge it myself, maybe it’s not so flagrantly indulgent. It’s partly just an occupational hazard: why would you expect anything else from an August leo? Summer is for passing a perfect pair of jeans between friends, for running away to Fire Island, for maybe a homicide in a pool, for “brief encounters walking around…