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Summer. Makes me think of long evenings playing on the street with the kids on my block growing up. Little red wagons — one of us would sit in the back and push with our feet, while the other steered the unwieldy handle around windy roads drawn with chalk on the asphalt.
We’d race around until after dusk, willing the sun to stay up just a little longer, so our moms wouldn’t call us in to set the table for dinner.
Eventually, though, our stomachs won out, and we’d head inside for tacos or homemade pizza. Then we’d get up and start all over again the next day.
