They were going to throw a block party, barricade off their neighborhood street, stuff some craft brews into a cooler and pump out some house jams, but Danny forgot to get a permit from the city.
They were going to throw an alley party, pound beers furtively back behind their houses, dance to tinny car stereos by the recently unloaded dumpsters, but the utility company tore it all up a week before.
They were going to throw an alley party anyway, but then Tom remembered the late-comers at the last one who ambitiously tried to make margaritas in his blender and spilled frothing slop everywhere in his stainless steel, marble-slabbed kitchen.
The ambient sun-baked warmth of the wistful summer waned as the would-be revelers slowly and inexorably realized they were shooting for an elusive ideal smudgy-faced, obstructionist reality never could match.
Joseph S. Pete is an award-winning journalist, an Iraq War veteran, an Indiana University graduate, a book reviewer, and a frequent guest on Lakeshore Public Radio in Indiana. He was named the poet laureate of Chicago BaconFest 2016, a feat that Geoffrey Chaucer chump never accomplished. His literary work and photography have appeared or is forthcoming in The High Window, Synesthesia Literary Journal, Steep Street Journal, Beautiful Losers, New Pop Lit, The Grief Diaries, Gravel, The Perch Magazine, Rising Phoenix Review, Chicago Literati, Dogzplot, Bull Men's Fiction, shufPoetry, The Roaring Muse, Prairie Winds, Blue Collar Review, Lumpen, The Rat's Ass Review, Stoneboat, The Tipton Poetry Journal, Euphemism, Jenny Magazine, Vending Machine Press and elsewhere. He once wrote an author bio that would have put James Boswell to shame, but accidentally deleted it and attached this rubbish instead.