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Sultry summer nights, listening to crickets.

Scaled skin, sweat dried on the back of the neck and across the brow, a languid breeze drifting through the air.

In a prairie field we were beneath a mighty oak tree, car lights off, listening to a tinny radio and kissing explosively.

Such an idealistic love, smacked back into reality after the sunrise.

I miss him.  I miss that place, now a parking lot for corporate middle-management denizens, patrolled with overeffective sodium lighting and an ineffective, pre-diabetic graveyard shift zombie.