Shit About Small Towns

We leave the bar at a quarter to two. It gives us enough time to stop at the supermarket to grab beers, booze, steaks, veggies and mushrooms. Can’t ever pass up on mushrooms. The charcoal gets lit around 2:30 A.M. My buddy gets the hot tub heated and he seasons the veggies and mushrooms before wrapping it all in foil. I season the steak with sea salt and pepper.

We start a game of bocce ball in the backyard while waiting for the charcoal to burn and cool down. I take a picture of the pile of ash underneath the Weber. It’s a lovely mountain of ash.

Once the briquettes get gray, I put on two tri-tips.

I’m crushing him in bocce, up 13-4 and we’re playing to 15.

The 20-year old neighbor walks through the side door. She’s home late from her young people parties and noticed the lights and heard our yelps. She knows our summer habits.

Amber’s a beautiful young lady, who makes us sandwiches at her day job when she’s not in school.

I win the game by hitting the boccino twice. Amber smiles and sniffs at the tri-tips.

I grab her a beer and put the New York strips on the grill along with the veggies.

The laggards roll in. They finally closed the bar, but they brought gifts: bottles of whiskey, a few cases of beer and a half dozen freshly cleaved rib-eyes.

What a lovely morning.