A pail beneath our bottoms with a dirt patch for a cup holder. Smells of burning wood and smoke fill the freshest air while passing the just rolled cigarette. Drink of twisted tea raspberry, one of many back yard parties. The police car passes several times through one hour. Never much excitement here. Where there is fire, there are people–people drinking. Here, fires draw people in rather than push them out. It’s the only chance the cops may see some action.
The 20 somethings gather together, their thoughts on the country’s issues. Wood crackles in the background, hoping to give insight into politics. A debate arises, an intelligent one. Solid facts passed through ears, sitting in between, observing, and soon to be writing of events. A typical gathering in the boonies of Vermont; where great ideas produce from peasant minds–foundation of America. Headlights flash, and then pass, the conversation continues while others opposite the fire speak of different matters.
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