Pluck the day 

So, Jupiter has granted us another hot summer. Maybe the last one before some terror strikes or an armada of stinging jellyfish will send us screaming right in front of TV cameras.

Right now we’re fearless and scorn the threats of sunburns and the like. We stand together, we down our drinks and in the early hours of the new day we’ve finally plucked the last one. There’s no need of plucking anyway as our days fall from the skies like ripe fruit, ripe with sunshine, beer and sandy beaches.

All our yesterdays are oblivious of their tomorrows, and no litter left behind. No fingerprint, no scribbled word or photograph, no laugh nor skin.  Just empty spaces and the writing on the wall: CARPE DIEM