Oh, those lazy hazy crazy days of summer.
If only Nat could see me now.
I never met Nat. Did meet his daughter, Natalie, once. We were both between flights at an airport. Don’t even remember which one.
She had what we use to call bodyguards, now entourage, and whatever you call them they were big, muscular men.
She was also tall.
Nevertheless and showing my unending stupidity, I walked up to her and told her how much I loved her music, her singing, mentioned that I use to listen to her father with my parents on our old Motorola record player.
She smiled, took my hand, and sang the chorus of Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer. She signed my flight pass – still have it – and her handlers whisked her away.
The Raccoons remember.
That’s why they’re hanging out like that.
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