Jealous?

Lemme paint a picture for you: It's mid-July in Chicago and it's hot, real hot, maybe 91 or 92 and humid as fuck. The house is sweltering. But here in this room, the window is letting in a little breeze and you have a big, icy glass of lemonade sweating on the table in front of you. She's at her desk across the room writing a new story and playing DJ. She likes the Air France EP and your Smiths library and between songs you joke and snark and talk nostalgia in that easy manner afforded to best friends sharing cold drinks on summer nights. The sketches and scribbles that will eventually become the poster for the 2008 (downtown) omaha lit fest are spread out in front of you, gathering momentum in your mind, but, for now, sit mostly untouched. It seems such a shame to spoil this moment with work. Work can wait. It's time for lemonade and "Suedehead" and Sweetpea.