Sitting in the Sun on a Sunday Afternoon

Golly me it’s a gorgeous day outside. I write this lounging in my foldable camping chair I purchased from Augusta at the 73rd Masters Tournament in 2009—where Angel Cabrera in his glorious piss yellow Sunday best lifted his fist to celebrate his first green jacket. 17 years later and the chair is holding up. I keep it under the back patio bringing it out into the sun each day to sit in the grass and talk to God as I indulge in my lovely nicotine addiction.

It rained yesterday . . . with thunder . . . I kept my front door open as I sat on the couch watching tv letting the sounds of dudes punching each other for UFC 326 have a friend in nature as the wrath of the heavens opened up to welcome the spring time. But now the sun is back to shining and the only sign of the storm are two roses on my bush which have decided to return from their winter slumber. I thought my rose bush died but Reddit said it’s one of the stronger plants so hopefully when my landlord pays back my security deposit the rose bush won’t be a part of the deductions.

This is my second time leaving the A/c today outside of my morning jaunt to the grocery store, I’ve been sewing pants all day. I keep joking that when I perfect the making of pants and can start to figure out the Oxford I won’t have to be naked anymore. I only joke because it’s a sentiment I’m not convinced anyone I talk to will understand the sincerity of. But soon I’ll be walking to the cafe in a perfectly measured, technically masculine, hand made, timeless, American outfit with my head down to prevent the whores calling out to me from their BMWs from knowing that I actually do appreciate their compliments. I’ll drink my coffee and write in my journal about how much more I understand what life is because I ordered my Cortado with whole milk and not some sacrilegious nut alternative that the depressed software engineers around me are sipping on as they write code to bloat whatever dumb SAAS platform they’re working for on the weekend to be able to afford to delay their pitiful suicide.

Man the sun feels good on my face. I’m staring at the sun right now and my eyes are warm. I can feel small gnomes in my brain start to wake up and turn on the machinery which will allow me to continue making my pants once I walk back inside. The pants are going to be perfect after today.