I can’t recall who was there but it was a hot summer night. I think there was maybe four of us sitting on that hill just talking and drinking beer.
I can’t recall what we talked about but we sat there for hours.
My brother had this thing about telling stories. He would start down a path and he would spend ten minutes telling you about that path before ever stepping foot on it. Many of the stories where like that, never really knowing where you would end up.
I have to admit, there were times I felt like yelling “GET TO THE POINT!” but I never did. Sometimes I was at the end of the story already, having heard it before, just waiting for it to be finished. I think he liked telling it, reliving it in his own head.
I would give anything to hear another rambling tale.