It’s this sky, on a hazy summer morning—the crisp, misty air, about to clear over the next ninety minutes. It creeps in through the window, into my nostrils. I breathe out. I’m in my bedclothes.

It’s time for breakfast. I make my usual high school favorite: a waffle with a scoop of mint-chocolate chip ice cream. Pour a glass of orange juice, and another of water. I wake up my brother, who’s always slept later than me. After about an hour, he finally comes downstairs. Our childhood dog is walking around, always interested.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

It’s midday, and we finally make it to the tennis courts. Empty, about to be a humid afternoon in the mid-80s. We rally for a while, and then play two sets. At home, our mother makes us lunch. The rest of the afternoon is filled with leisure.

A friend calls the house, trying to goad me to coming over that night. We’re going to have a few beers and mellow out, maybe smoke a blunt. It’s a lovely evening. After about midnight, it’s time to return home. Upon parting, another friend suggest that I sign online, to chat. I ask: “why don’t we just stay out longer?” I get a mumbled response.

Upon arriving home, I slink into bed.

Matthew Giordano is a New York based artist, and may be contacted at www.matthewgiordano.us