It was the kind of day that made you wish for a cold mimosa instead of boots, but there I was, trudging up a dusty trail with a nature freak. My buddy Zach, a wide-eyed optimist, had dragged me out here, insisting it would be “good for my soul.” Personally, I figured binge-watching and a nap would do a better job of that, but I decided to humor him. The sun was an unforgiving bastard, beating down on us like we owed it money. Zach, of course, was practically skipping up the trail, enthusiastically pointing out birds and plants that looked half dead from the heat. “Look, BB! A Pickerel Frog!” he exclaimed, as if I cared. At least I didn’t have to live in this giant oven called Texas.
