Wow, Nephew on the Dead. You went to Asbury Park?
“I haaaaaaaaaaate this.”
I thought you liked the beach?
“It’s too hooooooooooooottttttt.”
Yeah, we broke the sky. Sorry about that. Why don’t you go in the water?
“It’s too coooooooooooooooold.”
Uh-huh. It’s only June. The Atlantic doesn’t really warm up until August, and even then it’s barely luke. The first week in September, it can accurately be described as “almost uncold.” But it ain’t the Gulf of Mexico.
“I also stepped on something gushy. Plus, I’m in a diaper. Makes swimming very unpleasant.”
Still in that diaper, huh?
“Y’know how the country has lost interest in the coronavirus?”
Yeah.
“That’s the attitude the Guy and the Lady are taking towards my potty training. The project has been abandoned. So maybe the proper analogy would be the 2nd Avenue Subway.”
Maybe.
“Where am I, again?”
Asbury Park, New Jersey.
“Why?”
Fun.
“It’s roughly a billion degrees, Uncle. It feels like the sun is sitting on my face. Sometimes I sit on the Guy’s face, and this is what I imagine it feels like to him, but hotter.”
Why do you sit on your father’s face?
“Because he lets me. And because I truly have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Lotta reasons, man.”
Okay.
“There’s no plan whatsoever. I turn three next week. I’m ad libbing here!”
You have the Buddha nature.
“I want waffles and broccoli.”
You have ice cream.
“It displeases me. Take it from my sight.”
You’re getting cantankerous, young man.
“Ah, I’ve been screwed up lately. You know the place that’s not inside? The place with all the people and trucks?”
Outside.
“That. Dude, I LOVE outside! There’s so many things to look at, or try to put in my mouth. And, you know, I get born on a litter. The Guy and the Lady call it pushing the stroller, but they can’t fool me; I know what being born on a litter looks like.
It’s a fine way to travel.
“The best! But the past couple weeks, Uncle? Weird vibes out there. Like something was about to pop off. Y’know how the air kinda shifts before a biker hits a prostitute with a pool cue?”
No. And neither do you.
“It’s like that! There is a great tension, Uncle! And babies are like dogs: We can see other dimensions. Spirits and ghosts and whatnot. But they’re all beyond language, so we lose touch with them once we learn to speak. It’s the first great heartbreak.”
Don’t be weird.
“I can’t help it. It’s hooooooooooooooootttt.”
You’ll be home watching terrible, vaguely creepy, incredibly cheap-looking, computer-generated cartoons soon.
“Not soon enough. Hey, what is this place behind me? Nine or ten guys who look and dress exactly like the Guy have brought their kids here to take pictures since I sat down.
That’s Madam Marie’s fortune-telling shop. Bruce Springsteen put her in a song.
“Ah.”
You gonna be all right?
“I’m about ten minutes away from a conniption.”
Have fun.
I’ve only passed by Asbury Park on the G.S. parkway on my to Wildwood, which perhaps NOTD would enjoy more, although it’s over run by loud, obnoxious Philly natives which has it’s obvious drawbacks but I digress. Well aware of TOTD’s thoughts on Neil Young but I have to recommend Waylon and Neil’s “are you ready for the country.” It’s good! Ah, who cares.
Wildwood was where NotD’s dad and I were taken every summer. Watch the tram car, please.
You were born under a bad sign, and if you are defeated your body will be borne home on it.