I’m living the thug life now, here in the former 313. Not life as a criminal. I’ll leave that to my outlaw inlaws. But as Tupac once said, thug life is a life with a determined and resilient attitude to succeed, in spite of other’s nativism and injustice. I’ve busted out of Chippy county and I’m headed home to my homies. No more Michi-gangsta life for me. No more Trumpster fires on every corner. No more Confederate flags flying within earshot of Canada. No more SUVs riding my ass on the interstate, when we are the only two vehicles in sight. I’d much rather deal with grandpa tooling along in the left-hand lane, with his left turn signal on for twenty miles. I can deal with that. That feels like home. Tomorrow, I’ll flee the former 313 and move on to the 314. It’s over. I’m out.
Today is our last day at the cabin. I am looking forward to our departure. It was a beach day or at least the weather was quite beachy. For us, it was laundry day. Between laundry, Meijer’s, an interminablely long lunch at Pickles, packing and making beds, neither Anne nor I have made it to the beach yet, but now, when it is almost five, maybe we can walk the beach. Tomorrow we’ll launch south and overnight in Ann Arbor. On Wednesday, we’ll head home, after being three months on the road. It will be good to sleep in our own bed, even if it is ninety in Saint Louis. I checked for the first time in a long time and was plesantly surprised to see that the Cardinals are in first place. September is almost here, which means playoffs. Maybe the Cards will still be playing in October?