In all the stories I’ve read, when the hero refuses the call to action, there is always trouble. This is why one doesn’t refuse the call to action: why endure more suffering than you have to? Generally though, you have to be wise to know this-i.e. you have refused the call at least once. Most certainly to your sorrow.
Fortunately for me, the call was to get pizza, which is why I’m at Baerlic’s brewing having a fresh hopped Punk Rock Time, waiting for Ranch pizza co. to deliver me a pepperoni.
It’s a rough thing, having to rise up to the call of the universe.
I’m out on what I believe to be Summer’s Exit Interview day. It’s sunny-far, far warmer than it ought to be in October, in my opinion, as I could be in shorts and still comfortable. But it’s also quite windy, dry leaves skittering across the asphalt with a noise that would be far more appropriate to a haunted house.
Now it’s just part of the death knell of the planet. So, no big deal, right?
Ah, look at how dramatic I am being! But stories need drama, need stakes. I don’t know that I ought to apologize for reminding people that we are in this mess because of us, and it would really behoove us to do an us thing and solve it.
I’ll just admit that I’m playing things up-at least we both know where I’m coming from.
But as I was saying-the Exit Interview. In my experience, Summer rolls along until one day the wind blows and a whole lot of leaves plummet to the ground, the weekends are occupied with raking, and the True Chill of Fall has arrived.
So I suppose the Summer Series is almost over. But on a bright Saturday with a lightly hopped beer? Not quite yet. Not quiiiiiiiiite yet