Ah, Cape May. Memories of Cape May. Shucking corn. Baling hay. Well not baling hay per se actually - they do have machines - but at any rate, one big booted foot on the platform and the other on the back of the truck, part of a 2-man hay relay, hoisting and throwing the baled bales, up and through that big square space in the barn wall that you threw them through, big and heavy as they are, your arms lashed with tiny red welts from the sharp, fresh-cut stalks, other Cape May days bouncing on trampolines taking photos of each other, or walking up the two flights of exterior stairs to where the woman you thought you'd love for the rest of your life lived, with her fucking husband, or that time you all went for crab and you just sat there, looking at that fucking guy through your teeth. Damn that was some good crab.
Memories of Cape May. It was a real nice place. Wholesome rolling farmland, and infinite beaches or so it seemed, by the infinite reaches of the sea, stretching into the infinite depths of the future.
But eventually, it all unraveled. Something had to.
By God. Cape May is still where it was. But where has my life gone?
Memories of Cape May. It was a real nice place. Wholesome rolling farmland, and infinite beaches or so it seemed, by the infinite reaches of the sea, stretching into the infinite depths of the future.
But eventually, it all unraveled. Something had to.
By God. Cape May is still where it was. But where has my life gone?
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