There’s No Hope But I May Be Wrong
The Fox Version
Remember that time we went to Wallenport Beach, because you told me there was a mountain of beach glass?
—And that we could glean it, and we’d make such a bundle?
I had visions of sitting with you on Drake Avenue, busking on the warm sidewalk (alright, hot pavement) with a little hippie carpet of beach-glass jewelry set before us, artfully wrapped in wire, or twine, or whatever else you had stored in your backpack.
“Dragon glass for sale!” You’d make up a song on the spot.
I loved busking with you, because it never felt like begging, or even selling. It felt like, Oh, What a Beautiful Morning! was exactly what any normal person would be duetting in front of Chuy’s Tacos or Uncle Marin’s Antiques. I didn’t notice if anyone tossed money in our fine velvet hats, or not. I was in love …