Smell of Summer
Shortly after turning onto that last road the farms began and the smell would hit us. My sisters, selfishly I thought, would insist on windows rolled up. My brother and I would just inhale with excitement. It was such a foreign smell and it was rich and all-pervasive. There really was no escape, even with the windows safely up. It had a bottom and a top register, like the noise of a musical instrument, but it varied depending on proximity. At first it was simply there; spreading from the droppings baking in the sun like so many cookies in a cheery oven. But as each barn drew nearer the smell became sharp--penetrating the back of the nose and the eyes with a satisfying sharpness that quickly faded as the car moved on toward the next farm. My father, like some maddened musician, sped up as the miles passed so that the smell built and declined with increasing speed--on and off like rapid notes in a jazz solo.

Then, about a mile from the lake, the smell was gone. Hot grass and trees and Queen Anne's Lace and the growing smell of water took over. We really were there and throughout the month, if we were mercilessly dragged away like lit

 

Tastes, of course, vary as regards the addition of various condiments, salad items, and even bizarre commodities such as other meats (i.e., bacon) or fruits (i.e., pineapple, avocado, olives, jalapenos). None of these choices can be faulted--no matter how much the stomach reels at certain suggestions--because individual choice is everything. Ketchup, mustard, pickles, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, pickle relish, and even the sometimes controversial mayonnaise seldom raise much comment--so long as none of them (especially mayonnaise) is ever forced on an unwilling diner.

On the second day before the essay is due the procrastinator will begin to panic and will probably take rash steps such as inventing a title, typing the cover sheet, and checking the page layout on the computer. At such times the modern student may long for the old days of carbon copies, sharpening pencils, and whiteout. But, more likely, the modern student does not know anything about anything that happened before 1994 and will, blessedly, be unaware of these former tools of the procrastinator's art.

As he spoke he made a small jabbing movement with his left hand and a gun appeared, leveled at my midsection. I simply froze for a moment, turning cold and feeling a shiver sweep up my spine. But Paul immediately reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and thrust it toward the man. As the man reached for it they both fumbled and the man snatched it away, seeming annoyed. In the meantime I had pulled out my wallet and was calmly opening it and taking out the twenty or so dollars. I held the money out, waited for him to extend his hand, set it firmly on his palm and said, "Here you are," as he demanded in a more menacing tone if that was "it?"

There was a sharp difference in the flavors because one piece would consist of fruit flavors--such as orange, lemon and lime--which, while perfectly pleasant, were nothing compared to the pieces that featured various types of mint, anise,

 
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