“I hate the summer.” I can’t help but grin. You’d think someone who deals with the frigid Canadian winter for half the year would welcome the hot weather. “Why’s that?” “Because it always ends.” He lets out a glum sigh. “We get, what, two, three months? And then it’s gone and we’re back to shivering in our long johns. Summer’s a total cocktease.” He shrugs, repeating himself. “It always ends.” He’s right about that. Summer always ends.
