It’s noon, and I’m just emerging from a very restless sleep. The sun has started rising at 6 a.m. and pounding through my windows. I made it to bed at, I dunno, 4, 5 a.m. (?), so all considered I probably haven’t had more than two full hours of REM.

But, who cares – it’s finally SUMMER! The holiday weekend jettisoned the cloud of spring and in came, all at once, bare legs and rooftop barbecues.

I started last night at a party on the roof of a warehouse building, somewhere on South 5th. Wade, Mariah and I, spent the early part of the evening mingling with some graphic design friends of theirs; all of whom had the same San Francisco hipster look down: ripped cut-offs, black t-shirt, a cycling cap, and bike chain belted at the waist. Personally, not a fan.

Eventually, the sun slipped down over the bridge and the night began to buzz. Right about then, Donnie, who is the drummer in a band with Krissie, showed up and was bouncing around like a gummy bear. Not unusual, Donnie is a like hyper 9-year-old boy, stuck in a 30-year-old’s body. He let me know he was excited because he’d brought some fireworks and began eagerly setting them off in the center of the roof. Cackling the whole time.

Everyone began jumping around the popping and colorful flames like crazed banshees. By everyone, I mean mostly the men. They all appeared possessed by something, and in no time, their whooping was at a fever pitch. I half wondered if someone was going to end up aflame. In the absence of daylight, with a boon from the moon, sometimes, people just get primal . . . and there is nothing like some fire to really get them going.

I stood, staring, for who knows how long, before a voice nearby snapped me out of it.
“Hey, do you know where the bathroom is?”
I dread the bathrooms in these warehouses. There is always, like one bathroom for every two floors, the locks are generally broken or non-existent, you dare not breathe out of your nose, and there is never toilet paper. Oh, and lord save you if you are wearing a jumpsuit.
I turned to answer.
“Wait, I know you . . . aren’t you Krissie and Mercedes’s roommate?”
Through the smoke haze, I focused my eyes to see that it was Charli’s roommate, Blake. We’d met a few weeks back at Daddy’s.
“Sophi, right? Blake.”
I was instantly relieved by her presence in the midst of this inferno.
“I swung by here after a failed barbeque at Shea’s . . . long story.”
“Oh right.”
I knew Krissie was likely also at Shea’s – their current status being ‘on’ in their off and on relationship.

Before we could figure out where the bathroom was, we both looked up to find a half dozen cops hollering that the party was over. It’s so cliche, but this is literally what they said.

“Party’s over folks.”

Pretty pretentious to declare a party you haven’t even partaken in, over. Anyway, was probably for the best – I sensed the fire was inciting something wicked.

Blake turned to me.
“Charli just texted. I guess now everyone is at your place.”
I checked my phone and saw a text from Krissie.
“Babes, DUDES, Beer, and BBQ! Come home!!”
It wasn’t yet midnight.
“Let’s go!”

We mounted our bikes and got the hell out of there, our furious pedaling generating a hot breeze. The most surprising thing about summer on the east coast is that unlike in the west, where summer nights are synonymous with crisp air and light jackets, the heat here is unrelenting. Endless Summer.

The vibes back at our candy shop were high and freewheeling. Krissie and Charli had summoned a few scraggly, long-haired fellas and they’d even managed to pick up some hot dogs and veggie burgers along the way. And lo and behold, even Shea had abandoned his own barbecue for ours.

Mercedes arrived home soon after from her shift at the fine-dining restaurant where she works, with some gourmet offerings to add to the feast.
I looked at my roomies, this group of rag-tags, this city and admired all the kismet happening in that precise moment.

We all then passed several hours (!?) drinking PBR in the backyard, listening to Entrance and Dead Meadow and such and basking in the warmth summer was sparking.

TGIS: Thank God It’s Summer.