Off Gassing

By Maryanna Gabriel

It's not what you think. There are times when this resort town I live in goes a bit crazy. This time of year would be one of them. There are ongoing festivals although I don’t know if the chopper convention would exactly qualify as a festival but judging by the sounds I am hearing they are apparently quite happy. The cupboards I have been dutifully painting all week are starting to affect my lungs and my pallid relationship with Mr. Eraser, amazing as he is, is growing tiresome. While the new paint job is off-gassing I step out into the crowd. The sunshine is infectious. Immediately my spirits lift as I take in the market hubbub, get my tarot read, and drift casually over for some garlic braid shopping. It’s my birthday after all. I sit at a table catching up on magazines and wonder why every page seems to feature the word “bucolic”, or “iconic”, and when overstretched “elan". With a Portobello mushroom burger, I stretch out and hear drifts of conversation from off-islanders.. Time wasted is well spent as these summer days dwindle, the nights cool, and blackberries ripen. It feels good to off-gas.