The sky over Memorial Day was a roaring shade of summer —the scent of cut grass and charcoal smoldering— when I wondered aloud to the crew what the poor people were up to. Jenna gave me a look. What a look! Ah, Christ… But hey, Jenna’s a humorless kid—I don’t know where Mikey found her. She called me sad and stormed away like a child. But oh, there is a feeling you get when the Blue Angels fly over: My life’s not wasted. This is it. This is it! (Bitch…)