skinny

The heatwave is over and that was not televised.

About a year after I was jumping off of cliffs, I moved to Minneapolis, leaving my friends, to finish high school, then I moved away from MPLS, moved back, moved to the deep south and moved back and then moved away again and came back.

When I was working myself through my last two years college I worked at an italian american restaurant feeding the beautiful people of Uptown. It was hard work, I worked with my share of hard working people and those who made my life hell. But as everyone knows restaurant people do not have problems unwinding from the workday, it usually involves stimulants or depressants or perhaps a little bit of both.

So on the hot and humid days of July and August when we closed the place down the BOH-ers would pile into a car at and go to Hidden Beach strip off our restaurant clothes and do some naked swimming, dive into the water without the feeling of drag, play in the mud like dirty little hippies.

We'd meet other clothing optional folks, drink, talk, swim. I loved those nights the best.

The thing is that I can never go back to Hidden Beach. Sure it is there and I can go back to its physical space, but since I left the city has thinned out the trees to try to stop the very act that I was so nostalgic about. I think it was because of all of the drunk swimming/drowning and that it was smack dab in the middle of a residential area and everyone knows drunk have a really hard time lowering their voices.

And as I am writing and doing the research I just found out that the restaurant I worked at closed. I'll let you go so I can shed a single tear.

"Good afternoon, the mud pit is ready!"