Summer

I bought you a can of lemonade.

'Canned lemonade? Ugh!' is what you'd say
'How lazy ass wasted would one be to have lemonade out of a..'
and you'd take a sip and look at me with surprise in your eyes.
'Holy ...Where did you find it?'

I found it in the shop where they are canning everything
and selling them at ridiculous prices

'What do you mean everything?'

You know, like, pink popsicles and cotton candies and my granny's blueberry muffins, and the smell of talcom powder mixed with sweat on summer evenings, and our siestas, and all our loud laughing neighbors, and the treehouse in the backyard, and the dusty street from my home to yours.

'All of that?'

Pretty much.

'And us?'

We are the buyers.

'Why us?'

May be we are the only ones left who'd pay for all that. 

'What's the shop called?'

Summer of '94