Floodlights by Richie Smith

Floodlights by Richie Smith

The floodlights we found under my father’s workbench.  I didn’t want to cut chemistry for the fourth time in two weeks, but Lee was the boss. Lee was Freddie Mercury, and I was only Brian May playing a tennis racquet in the summer shirt I found in my basement in the oil burner room in the metallic closet with “out of season” labeled in my mother’s handwriting. The shirt was thin cotton, something a guitar player would wear, white with navy birds…