An ice-cold, sweet-and-sour lemonade in my hand. A deck of cards splayed out across the table between us, straights and trios lined up in a row. The breeze, a bit too chilly, rustling the leaves of our birch tree. His favorite reggae playlist on the stereo, sun slipping between the slats of our fence.
Easy, deliciously so. Not a care, not a care, not a care.