In the summer there was nothing to do but move slowly and sit under sprinklers. Nobody made music in the summer and the poetry was unoriginal.

The days were longer and somehow felt useless under the boot of a heavy sun.

FOR WHOM THE LACK OF TIME IS A CONVENIENCE BY TONI ST JOHN

34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 73

In the summer there was nothing to do but move slowly and sit under sprinklers. Nobody made music in the summer and the poetry was unoriginal.

The days were longer and somehow felt useless…

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