tempted to move into the country

A friend hosted a small cookout Monday night, at a place he rents south of town. It’s a simple one-bedroom on the second flor of a barn-like structure. There might have been a sculpture studio on the first floor.

We all ate on his porch, throwing a bone for his dog (who was also named Maggie), watching the mountains fade and the fireflies appear as the night approached.

It was’t too bad.

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