“We'll make it.”She looked up at me and smiled. “I know!”***By eight, we were on the road. I had made coffee over the fire and surprised Carla with apple cinnamon muffins I bought at the convenience store the day before. I made more coffee and filled the thermos.We were heading towards the Black Mountains. When we crossed the Colorado River, I noticed it seemed shallow and remembered reading with alarm how more and more water had been used for irrigation during the drought, how it was being diverted to California and the river was barely a trickle before reaching the Gulf of Mexico.“See how low the river is. That's serious.”“I know. My grandpa talks about the drought a lot. He's worried. All the ranchers are.” As we crossed the bridge, Carla stared at the river then looked at me as if trying to read my mind. I closed my eyes at the thought of the water crisis not only there but all around the world. I shook my head then turned to her. “It's only going to get worse.”In the distance, we. I play the sax. I'm probably good enough to almost have made the big time, but just NOT that well connected.This was a lively crowd and we had plenty of people dancing to our musical noise. I call it noise because we can't play our music; we have to play stuff that's been gathering dust in their musical libraries for at least ten years or so. It's automatic for us, and B O R I N G as hell. I tend to watch the women, find an attractive one or two and feign as if I'm playing to them alone. It's easy enough, more eye contact than anything else.And that's how I met them.Embeth and Audrey. One blonde, one brunette. Both were about thirty or so and well preserved; probably gym rats from their hard, but well curved bodies.They approached me when the next to last set ended. Introductions were performed, and Audrey handed me a strong scotch on the rocks."Thanks," I said. "How did you know I drank scotch?" I overheard you telling the bartender earlier," she said with a cute smile."That was a.
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