Sometimes I get real wanderlusty, and this is one of those times.
Alone on the porch.
Simon spread his legs in front of him, feeling the cool breeze of that July night. A tear of sweat made its way from his neck toward his back, a forget-me-not brought on by the sun, telling him not to worry: I’ll be back tomorrow. The thought of another day of baking in the sun was enough for Simon to let out a groan and drop his head into his chest. From the corner of his eye he could see his phone light up, the vibration on the wood porch causing a buzzing that seemed to echo on his street. He groaned again. He’d have to take the call eventually. But not yet. Not now. He pushed the phone behind him, the buzzing continuing a few more times before dying, just as Simon closed his eyes.