It was late July, those days in Chicago when summer is past its prime and everybody’s waiting around for a bit of fun. I was sitting on the concrete steps out back watching him at the grill.
You’re burning those burgers, bruh.
Naw, watch. The outsides’ll be a little burnt but the insides’ll be perfect.
Yeah but we can still taste the outside and it’ll taste burnt as hell.
Cajun-style. He laughed.
I smiled at him, salty droplets sparkling on his broad brown forehead.
You wanna man the grill then?
Nigga. I’m a guest.
I took a swig of my Makers Mark and Dr. Pepper. His two huskies pawed at an old dead possum, above them the cicadas were singing at full pitch as warm wind blew through the green leaves like hot breath.
He looked up at the sky. Big puffy white mountains slowly rising, swelling.
Looks like it’s gonna rain.
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