Like a starved cheetah that’s been uncaged and let loose in the middle of a desert-hot, jalepeńo-poppin’ Saudi Arabian nightclub, this summer was f*cking outta control. Could not be tamed. Not even with a military grade tranquilizer shot a point blank (was tested). Shit was undeniably #loose.
Pretty much every day and/or night was a stage for some monumental occurrence—be it 10-hour days spent at Ditch, Budweiser-fueled trips to Block Island, celebratory birthday cruises, unmemorable nights spent sweating and patenting innovative dance moves within the confides of one Memory Motel, circa-2AM powernaps in the Montauk Public Gardens and every second spent recovering and passing the time in between.
Just want to give a planetary shoutout to the sun for shedding light on all the fun shit there was to do each day, the night sky for dimming the lights on poorly-made decisions, and of course the Earth for constantly providing a free-admission playground for us to enjoy, day-in and day-out. Til next time.
