It’s night here, but all of North America is spending a lazy late afternoon with beer sloshing around in their bellies, faces warm in the sun, fingers slightly sticky from ketchup, translucent food stains on their clothes, where they wiped up a splotch of mustard and beef fat that dripped off a juicy burger.
Some people even ate salad.
Some people are listening to live bands with their shirts off, in a park. Some people are in their backyards, and the lucky ones have their own swimming pools. The luckier ones have homes by lakes, or large ponds, or pretty rivers that sparkle like tinsel in the sun.
Hopefully, even people without homes have full stomachs today. Definitely in Los Angeles. Hillary Duff is doling out hot dogs at a soup kitchen somewhere. And maybe so are some other B-List celebrities like Wilmer Valderrama or Raven Symone. Something like milkshakes, or apple pie. Anyway, those homeless people in LA will get closer to more celebrities in one soup kitchen meal than many of us roofed, fed, employed people would in a lifetime. These are the perks of being homeless.
I am thinking of all the beer-glazed (and also teetotaller) people out there. I just ate a very modest dinner, all vegetarian. In India, on our equivalent of the Fourth of July, we have “dry days” which means, all the bars are closed and so are all the liquor shops. You can only drink in your house, and only if you planned ahead. This is to give the holiday some dignity. I am perfectly dignified when drunk, I think.