On Saturday night, I went with Alex to see a baseball game. The New Orleans Zephyrs, versus somebody else. I don't even remember who. Mostly, the trip was an excuse for cheese fries, chicken tenders, oversized cocktails and daquiris and hanging out. They gave us those new gold dollars as change, which initially confused me greatly. After the game, we headed over to Ernie K-Doe's Mother In Law Lounge to check out the post funeral aftermath.
It was most certainly anti-climactic to emerge from the woods on a cool Sunday morning and walk into a well-appointed campground bustling with car campers making breakfast over Coleman grills and disheveled children wrapped in Disney character blankets, quietly playing with IPads. In that moment of familiarity and habit I almost forgot what I had been doing for the past few days as I picked at the continental breakfast laid out by our instructor to welcome us back to civilization. I wanted a shower, a change of clothes and much more than a grocery store muffin (which I ate anyway). I wanted my foods: the nut butters and trendy high protein "superfoods" I am so used to and have come to expect. Three days before, I was skinning a garter snake, awkwardly and squeamishly removing its guts, cutting it into one bite-sized piece for each of my classmates and adding it as the main part of a stew made up of pond water, wild garlic, a handful of tadpoles, a slug, a cricket, multipl...
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