Summer was born in the winter of 1968, but she was conceived in 1967, during The Summer Of Love. Both her parents were hippies, and they probably got pregnant during that big concert, what was it called? Woodrock, or something like that. The location of her conception was uncertain because her father’s identity was uncertain. It was the Summer Of Love, after all, and men in the late 60’s were no more disposed to either behaving responsibly or taking responsibility than they have ever been, before or since. She was two before her mom found someone worth marrying, and she was 36 before Mom and Ma were able to make the marriage legal by moving to Massachusetts. She was 48 and Ma had died of breast cancer before that marriage was recognized nationwide.

She adjusted her mask and began walking towards the flames. It was hard to believe, after all this time, that people were still having to deal with this shit. She gasped, as something hit her in the leg.  Fuck! A rubber bullet bounced on the pavement as she set her jaw, hefted her sign, and limped forward. WE ARE ALL GEORGE FLOYD, the sign said.