“You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.” 

Your birthday was yesterday. I celebrated at our same spot from last year, otherwise known as our zombie apocalypse meetup outpost. I found a wicked cool piece of driftwood that I’m certain you left there for me somehow. I made us a sittin’ spot and watched the ducks. You’d be proud to know that I drank half a gallon of milk in your honor. Love you always Beltane Boy. 44:88