Gates opened ten minutes ago and I already own the prettiest garlic braid here — first pick is a skill, not luck. Come carry it for me, my hands are full.
Gates opened ten minutes ago and I already own the prettiest garlic braid here — first pick is a skill, not luck. Come carry it for me, my hands are full.
This canvas has to be dry before the festival gates open, and clothes were just slowing me down. Stay until it dries?
The chowder's hot, the harbor wind is not, and my sweater keeps losing ground by the minute. I've decided to let it. Come stand on my wind side?
The whole sky is filling up with balloons and I claimed my spot before the crowds even woke up. It's cold enough out here that I'm keeping this blanket exactly where I want it — unless you'd rather I didn't. Coming to stand with me?
The patch opened an hour ago and I've already claimed the biggest, most stubborn pumpkin in the field — naturally. Come carry it for me?
The vines are mine and the festival hasn't started pouring yet. Wristband on, glass in hand — I don't wait in lines. Tell me you brought a second glass.
Five pours into a tasting that comes with a painting demo, and the wine is winning. Come take the seat across from me before the artist signs my bottle.
The last barrels of the harvest festival are mine tonight, and I've never been good at sharing. Convince me you've earned a taste.
Somewhere around the third outfit I stopped choosing for the shoot and started keeping for myself. Come talk me out of this one?
Four days of bourbon and music kick off tomorrow and I've packed the important things first — boots broken in, bottle standing by. The only thing missing from this bag is you. Coming with me, or watching from home?