There’s a big rambling group of blackkids out of school for the day, shambling down the hill, hoodied and longpanted in cover of September coldfront faux-fall. Laugh it up and grabass, guys — there’s a crisp in the air and you could even convince yourself the leaves are changing but that’s only wishful thinking — it’s only latesummer drought and the green leaves crackle with dehydration, like early mornings after big rambling winedrunks when your entire being screams with the accumulated sulfite heaviness waterwaterwater but it’s purged back up like crude jokes of the greasetrap night and you’re back to the start — like these faux-fall afternoons teasing happy blackkids, it’s only a window to better future times.