I bought flowers for the front yard. They are an obscene shade of red. I drove the back roads to the grocery. I wanted to keep driving. I wanted to find a shady spot in the middle of nowhere where the clouds were still visible. I wanted to spread out a blanket and eat cherries and drink my iced tea and feel the earth bumpy and warm. I wanted a full car of family and friends to do this with. Instead I returned home, grumpy and tired. I won’t let the Inner Beast win. I get the speaker, my phone, a tarp, and my sleeping bag. I blast bad jazz music and spread out on the grass in my “backyard.” I am at Wolftrap. I am with friends. I am at Wolftrap. I... Hate this song. What kind of jumpy jazz two-note minute-long solo is this?? “You paid for this?” Co-Captain Dad comments while manning the grill. “I supported a local venue for streaming. Yes.” I sip my tea. I swat a mosquito. “I have no regrets,” I say to no one. The red flowers look sublime. END TRANSMISSION