High tide on the west coast

Nana appeared from nowhere and charms me now with the wildest ideas and stories that sound remarkably like Johnny’s. She says, “I was just out on the balcony. There’s a fat moon hanging in the sky illuminating the bay…the crickets are going crazy, cars zoom softly by in the distance. For some reason this makes me think of springtime in Tulsa, with the frogs so loud down in the creek. I remember them spilling out onto the road, the sounds of them, all squishy crunchy ribbetting popping under the truck tires, hundreds of them frozen in the headlights and cottonwoods and the fireflies, bright little splashes of cyalume on the windshield, driving south into Texas late at night. Somehow I ended up buying a harley davidson shirt from Oklahoma City, tho I dont recall being in OK City, I vaguely remember headlights illuminating a dirty shack we stopped in the middle of the night, so maybe that was it. I have no idea whatever happened to that shirt. Did I give it to someone? A.? I haven’t the foggiest. The night is so lovely out. Smoochie has been out in the back, I can tell where she’s been by her paw and chest smells, lavendar, eucalyptus in back or the smelly yellow flowers by the stairs, or the fresh earth from the gopher holes…It must be just fucking aces to be a young cat on a night like this.”

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