Saturday afternoon. Mini-roadtripping. In my head it’s the Eagles of Death Metal. We’ve got some hard choices to make when we arrive. Beer before wine you’ll be fine. Wine then beer never fear. Wine then fear then…  more beer then wine then Klippies… then fear… god. Buckets of beer. Like a boot party out of your white corolla at the Zeekoevlei. The girls are rolling down grassy luminous hills in time to Dolly Parton. Hats and plastic cowboy guns and comfort foods prepared by moms who know how to share love through an oven. Carbs are going to get me dangerous. Blur of plaid and cowboy boots on the dance floor. A dozen different iPods fighting. Later in the evening there will be cards by the fire and guys will jump in the pool and I’ll find a duvet for us to creep under and we’ll wake up to the door banging in the wind through the Elgin valley and some girl will be talking in her sleep and I’ll make analogies to Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and write notes on my blackberry about youth and stream of consciousness and feel alive again.

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