Your mom and stepdad strung up shade tarps for anyone who brought an instrument and felt called to join in. Social distance was don't fiddle the eye out of the guitarist beside you. Dancing on the grass social distancing was a lot of knee knocking--help the fallen and settle on a hug. If you'd grown to elbow-high, it rained white wine and beer froth those summers. You and I knew little of love and its shatter lines, so we sighed our twain forevers while touching lips in the shady nook of a monstrous bougainvillea.
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"Classic"
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