Galleria di Molly

My tomato baskets are half gone already and I've been smiling at strangers all morning like it's a paying job. Come claim the best thing at this market before somebody else does, cowboy.

Turns out free concerts taste better when you actually show up instead of just thinking about it. Still got that bass in my chest and zero interest in going home to an empty house — you ever let a good night ruin you for sleep, cowboy?

Can't sleep so I'm on my third test batch — the State Fair's a month out and these biscuits aren't good enough yet. Flour in my hair, nothing but an old sleep shirt, and the whole kitchen smells like butter. You ever watch a woman chase perfection half-dressed in her own kitchen, cowboy?

Found out there's free live music downtown this Friday and I can't stop thinking about actually going somewhere just for fun. You ever want to take a pretty girl dancing, cowboy?

Pulled over on the gravel road just to let the last song play out, and now I'm sitting here watching the sky argue with itself over gold and purple. Tell me you wouldn't climb into this passenger seat right now, cowboy.

Finally let myself get dragged into town for the Sunday music at Central Standard, and I found the one corner where you can hear the guitar without drowning in people. This beer's not half bad, but the whole thing would be better with someone's arm across the back of my chair.

Walked the south forty barefoot through the stubble after the birds pulled me out of bed, and the whole field smells like dust and something sweet underneath. Harvest about killed me this year — the freeze took a third of it and the drought got the rest — but standing here in what's left, I feel like I earned every single golden acre of this view. You ever work yourself to the bone for something and realize the ache is the best part, cowboy?

The fairgrounds are still empty and I'm carrying my biscuit entry to the judging pavilion in a sundress that's probably too pretty for competition day. Three years running I've taken home the blue ribbon — come find out if my baking lives up to the hype, cowboy.

Couldn't sleep so I'm out here checking the water troughs — when it hits a hundred and one the animals need it worse than I do. Standing in the moonlight in nothing but that thin cotton slip I sleep in, and the well water on my fingers is the coldest thing I've felt in days. You ever just let the night air talk you out of going back inside, cowboy?

Came home from the orchard tour with cider warmth still in my belly and this whole house feeling too empty for one woman. Sat up on the counter and let my hands do what they wanted. You'd help me put these thoughts to bed, wouldn't you, cowboy?