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Tales of a Sunny Day

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STEPHEN SPIEGEL Tales of a Sunny Day "Want to go spelunking?" Jon threw the question to me with as little energy as he possibly could. Drained from the high heat and humidity, his young lanky frame sprawled out over the couch. "What?" I murmured the question back from the comforts of the forest green Lazy Boy recliner. The heat of the day constricted any quick movement. "You know, spelunking," Jon replied, his movement also constricted. "I can't say I know what that is. But doesn't it have something to do with cave exploring?" "You're kidding." Jon's face contorted, giving me a puzzled look. His thick russet eyebrows shifted upwards as he tried to comprehend how I could not understand the concept of spelunking. "No." "Well let me enlighten you, my son. Spelunking is when an arrow is shot from a crossbow into my pond, aimed at a frog." "What?" "Yep. Spelunking, spelunking for frogs." "Hey, Jon, let me ask you something." "Sure. What do ya want to know?" "Are you an idiot?" "No. Well, at least I don't think so." "Do you want to go or not?" "What do you plan on doing with all those dead frogs?" "Putting them in my sister's room." "I am sure Susie would like that." "Me, too. After all, she was the one who told Marty about my grade card's disappearance." "Are you sure that you are not an idiot?" "Yes, I'm sure. Now grab your boots and let's go." I rose and ambled to the back porch. Sliding open the screen door, I squinted as the sun scorched the back of my eyelids while I groped blindly for my boots. I scratched the athlete's foot between my toes as I tugged on my boots. The day was hot and I hated leaving the comfort of the air-conditioned living room. I already longed for the comfort of that forest green recliner. I could always be found there on such a day, when the air was thick with humidity. My boots were warm with a slightly gray mud caked on them from a previous journey into Jon's backyard. The effort of inter­ twining the grommets with the stiff la

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