Young husband or dad, collar unbuttoned, crossing the hazy Stew Leonard’s parking lot to the car; topped-up propane tank in one hand and a hot dog with the works in the other.
Shade, warbled on the pavement as sunlight filters through leaves. Shelter beside the farm stand down the street. Corn on the cob. Tomatos, small but homegrown.
Pomegranate and persimmon sky over the backyard. Hold up an empty collins glass, frame the sun and you could be toasting a tequila sunrise.
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