I go to the best places. Not this place. But a place like it.
You should know I go to the best places with no warning. I keep a packed bag in the closet by the door. I keep some CLIF bars in the top pouch.
It’s a hiking backpack.
I do that, too. The hiking is not always the best. Sometimes there are too many people and a trail as wide as four men laid end to end. Tall dudes.
Those trails are, quite literally, balls.
The best places are the best because they’ve got people in them, of some sort. But good people.
Like you.
(But not you.)
((Maybe you—do you own a flask?))
I think the real question is: “Is this place real? Could I have sex with someone right here and not give a damn?”
There’s some nice shade. A nice view.
So, yes.