We came home late last night on the bikes. The dogs barking. This morning, the bikes were on the ground, fallen over. I picked them up and parked them. I think maybe we just left them there, ourselves. It was that kind of night. Corn should be coming in soon enough. Making moonshine. There has to be one good thing about living in Appalachia. That would be about it. Unless you were a blue heeler and you had a porch. Porch dogs. Weed. In the grass. Dude, if you are messing with my bike, please stop.