My Kind of Folks

It's the middle of June already and I haven't been to the beach, yet. My favorite beach isn't filled with pretty people sunning themselves and spritzing their hair with rose water. There you will find the folks who most likely have a vehicle (or two or three) soemwhere on their property in dire need of repair. The men spend Saturday afternoons congregating around the open hood, beer in hand, tools in the toolbox. The music heard blocks away - that's coming from thier houses where the doors are wide open and welcoming, even if the pack of dogs is not. If you need something, they probably don't have it, but they'd be happy to fashion something for you out of an empty plastic milk carton, that rawhide they wrestled from the dog, and an old oil funnel. There, that might just do the trick.

These people don't care how they look. They're hot, damnit! After working hard all week, this beach is their reward. They have everything they need - cool water, a package of wieners, an old park grill stuck crookedly in the ground and filled with a bag of charcoal they've lit with the aid of an entire can of lighter fluid, and an illegal cooler of the cheapest beer you've ever tasted.

And it tastes so goooood.