The leaves were ultimately dead. Undeniably departed from the rest of what was managing to pull through the jarring bitterness. The trees were rusting. Grass was brown. The air reminded me of how it feels to swim at the beach. I don’t like the beach. I don’t like the sand, or the seagulls, or the salt. I like the sensation of this air, though. It isn’t warm. It isn’t cold. It isn’t even an in between. It is what it is, and I could creep around this time of the year perpetually.

It was a long summer prior. Annoying. And there was nothing to show for it. A calm depletion, I guess. Now here we are. I’m cold. Good. We have been walking for minutes. Eight, specifically. There is nothing too pronounced about this either. We will arrive when we do and that has settled in my mind. I am comfortable. Here we go.

One. Two.

Ugh. More walking. Counting the houses. Should have brought gloves. Maddie’s pale hair is singing as she searches in front of me. Will we ever find her apartment? Yes, of course. She lives here.

Hunting, kind of. My father used to take me hunting when I was eight. I would look through his binoculars and get lost. On special occasions the police would join and play hide and seek with me and I could never understand why someone would be so frustrated at a simple child’s game. C’mon, a child is more rounded than you. Grow up. Live a little.

Here we are. God bless. Her third floor Victorian styled apartment has been captured! And now we can finally eat our take out. It is humorous how complex taking food back to your origin is. Why was this the case? Why is my food cold? Oh yeah, we just hiked across the entire state simply to munch on overpriced sandwich’s. Thank you, Cape May. I appreciate the hospitality.

We engage over topics that interest us both equally as we devour our half-assed meals. To be honest, I feel as though I could have produced a better combination of ingredients simply by opening up Maddie’s fridge; but this will suffice. What is there really to complain about? Someone single-handedly built this beast with their own imagination and I literally paid for it. With my hard earned money. This is called willingness. This is called survival.

I visit my dear friend Maddie once a month. Each time, it is tradition for us to scout out the neighborhoods to discover and unleash the best lunch spot known to man. So far we have managed to eat soggy tomatoes and semi-toasted bread. We are trying! I promise! We will get there some day! And up to this point, I have spent the last few days of my visit here contemplating how I perceive this season’s acerbity. Being hungry will do that. Maddie is really into weather, too. And season’s. And Summer. So it is all I hear about.

Listen, I understand the language Autumn speaks in. It’s not a whisper, but it is quiet enough that a person would need to have the willingness to listen. If said person had a big enough drive to hear what it has to say, maybe winters would be a little bit more sustainable on the human body. The snow and all of its’ parts doesn’t seem so user-friendly to someone who doesn’t understand its basis. It’s as if you’re trying to read something with your eyes glued to the back of your head. You can’t use something if it is misplaced.

Does this make sense? Yes. It does. It should. Not to Maddie, though.