spaghetti straps and long island iced teas. an explosion of lush green growth hugs the winterworn stones all over campus. yes, clack your poker chips together like chattering teeth. it's a spring saturday night and the dark courtyard air is rolling through the windows, finally thrown open as the group gathers.
they may have listened to this album before, humming from the old glowing phonograph in the corner; they may have tasted the same crudely prepared mixed drinks; maybe they had even passed similar joints a time or two; but not on a night like this.
back in morgan county, they're probably cruising the country lanes, the corn not yet high enough to hide their cars.
grass clippings, pollen, wet earth, bees inspecting the clover blossoms.