
I’ve come to appreciate summer wear late in life. For years I was one of those folks who wore the same outfit day after day, regardless of season: black jeans, black socks, black shoes, button down shirt. It had something to do with believing that I was not the kind of person who cared about clothes, and so preferred to think as little about it as possible. Of course I was hot in the summer, but for some reason that was better than changing my routine. Instead I walked the streets in the nighttime to get some outdoor time, pretending I was the last lone survivor of a zombie apocalypse.
Today I write to you dressed in a pair of shorts that doubles as a swimsuit, a safari print shirt, and a pair of strappy sandals. When I walk down the street, I feel the summer air on my skin. When I walk through the park, I feel the contours of the earth under my soles. And I owe some of that to Jeremy, AKA Spider, a man who gifted me his sandals after he died.
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