It is impossible to write in ninety degree heat with a hundred percent humidity. My first time kayaking was with her on the Penobscot River. We stopped and had beer and pastrami sandwiches and chips, and I swam as she lay in the sun. She told me stories about her friend who drank herself to death after finding out she had breast cancer. It is impossible to cry in the heat but I nearly did, pouring a little beer out into the river instead.

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