Ah. It's summertime in the disintegrating city. And I'm really blissful. I used to love winter when I was younger, but the older I get, the more I want heat and light. This is probably a sad recognition. And yet I'm not sad. Instead, the world is coming alive around me. It's so nice to wear shorts again, and t-shirts, and sandals, and walk down the broken sidewalks with the grass growing in the cracks and fissures, to say hello to complete strangers and be said hello to, to walk to the Red and White with its broken tiled floor and toothless loiterers standing outside, or even inside, chatting up the cashier, and buy a six pack of Corona and stop by the park on the way home and watch kids and moms playing on the jungle gym. Across the street, the crazy people (I live across the street from halfway houses and homes for people who have had major nervous breakdowns) are dancing to music. The other morning, my downstairs neighbor had his birthday, and Jackie left the apartment and sang Happy Birthday to him from outside, below his window, and all the crazy people started singing with her. What a serenade for George to wake up to! I was jealous! I stopped at Altha Jane's today. The first time I walked into her bakery she looked me up and down as if to say, "What on earth is this white boy doing in my bakery", and she asked if I needed directions. I said I heard she made a wonderful sweet potatoe pie and she melted and said, "Well that I do, sugar." I bought a sweet potatoe pie from her husband, Porgie, today, and drank some corona and wrote a little more of the essay I need to finish to graduate. I can't wait until I can spend this same day without the essay being involved in it.