It has been almost a month since I have returned to Miami Beach and as I walk my dog and my girlfriend holds onto my arm and then slides down to my hand, we joss around thinking how we used to have to wear a sweatshirt or sneakers as we walked through the chill of the night air. We had stopped many times while walking around in Philipsburg to say hello to the townspeople, to look at the brilliant stars, or just to run into a bar to grab a shot to cut the cold. On the many occasions of the late night walks or early morning walks that we went on there seemed to be a voice that would come out of no where with a hello, a good morning, a good evening or do you have time for a joke, a smoke, a drink.
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Tonight on Miami Beach it is 87 degrees, there are no stars, no chill of the cold breeze, no sound of the leaves rustling in the background. But as we are walking under the droplets of rain some of our recent acquaintances words or accents or jokes arise in our talking and bring back the ever welcoming community of P-Burg… Where some of the coolest nights Erin and I spent just happened on these long walks at night in the mountains of Montana in the belly of the summer during the month of August:
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