On the fourth of July.
We sat on Kacy’s helicopter landing pad, watched all of LA’s fireworks go off in the distance, and reflected back on last summer’s antics.
Jenny said “Last summer is going to be hard to out-do because we did whatever the fuck we wanted.”
It was a summer where my friends and I did little to fight or resist vices, romances, and the product which came from both together. It seemed as though, for a few fleeting moments, every sense of caution in us blissfully and briskly slipped into a coma.
I said I bet we can top last summer.