Breathable and Durable

[Continuing]

Shut up Zoe. What do you know? You're a cat.

He zipped his coat all the way up after covering his entire head with the hood.

You give someone a gift and they open it and have an experience. The experience is there's. It's not yours. Why was this so difficult for her to see.

He looked at himself in the mirror through a rough halo of faux fur, finishing the Colombian coffee he made himself. Enjoying the coat in the mirror he was ready for the challenge of another wet and chilly morning through the blue darkness of the city and into the hilly neighborhoods that made up his territory. There was no way that he could use his old bike, it was of no use to him given the weather. He was shopping endlessly online for something rugged but hadn't saved up enough given how much he put out for the Forrester rental and Honda repairs recently.  He wanted something with big knobby tires, he wanted to do his usual great research as well.

Nevertheless, he went out the door on foot in a great parka, and a decent pair of boots.

He was really glad he had gone with the Merrill Men's Moab 2 mid waterproof hiking boot. It was unrivaled as to its waterproof protection and overall durability, well worth the price given its out-of-the-box comfort. The performance suede leather and mesh upper was both breathable and durable, and the closure felt snapped in, secure and snug. It was a breathable boot utilizing a FIT.ECo blended EVA footbed specially contoured for durability along with Vibram PC five outsole for grips with wet or dry surfaces. They gave him a lift no matter what and he never had to worry about rain getting in. So these with a pair of wool socks and you could live for weeks without worrying about your feet.

He was planning another getaway camping trip. He figured he was more than ready to do some fishing. The mom-and-pop down the street had Whitefish this weekend and he devoured it along with 1/2 bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay, a baked potato and a tossed salad.

He'd settle for bluegill over the campfire, indeed.

Just East of the Indian territories, on his way back from Laura's, he had spotted a small state park almost no one knew about. It was more than familiar to him, however. He thought he might head back there and see if he couldn't grab some perch or crappie from Crows Lake where he first ever spent the night out in the woods alone.

He was thirteen. He blinked about in the world behind his glasses, scrawny yet overconfident. 

It was a night full of stars. Sighs too deep for words sung from high bows above as mourning doves sang love… And love… And love… over him while he sat peering skyward at the waxing moon of mid-July.

The sleeping bag was musty. He had his knife.

Bacon in the morning.