Labor Day was all about incongruity: me tooling around Carrollton in a convertible with my cousin Adam. Shades on. Styling and profiling. Lunch at the pub. Later, drinks on the back porch of my uncle Don's home (my grandfather's brother, making him ... my great uncle?): sweet tea for me, whiskey for them. Trading war stories, wounds, injuries, histories, and the like. A lot of fun but too hot: I came home wiped out, went to bed.
Still, it was nice. I had tried to corral some friends for a get together but that didn't materialize. This was good too.
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