Tom and I decide to ride our bikes to the lake. Our plan is to sleep on the beach under the stars; however we no sooner stretch out on the beach when we hear thunder rolling in over the lake. We ride our bikes to the closest motel. While they have a room it takes almost all the money we have to stay there. Getting up the next morning we realize we have a long ride ahead of us and no resources to buy a meal. At the first village we stop in a corner store to see what we can afford. Scouring the shelves we call out to each other with affordable options. “Cookies for sixty-nine cents!” “What about a popsicle?” As we pedal laboriously down the country road we pass a cornfield with immature corn. We decide to stop and steal an ear each.
We feel embraced by the white trunks of the century-old plane trees as we listen to Croatian folk songs in Zrinjevac Park.
My Aunt Mae goes down to the docks and buys lobster fresh off the boats. We all go to a park where she gets a huge pot of water boiling for a family lobster picnic. No one knows how to eat lobster like my Aunt Mae.