King Pari

You wake up to the smell of churros coming through your window. It’s unseasonably warm and you’re not hungover, like, at all. The public pool opens in ten minutes. You walk even though it’s kinda far, and on the way, you find a ten-dollar bill on the sidewalk. The pool is packed and everyone’s playing that game where you grease up a watermelon and try to catch it. The sun is fuckin’ blasting. The beers are seven dollars but you’ve got two cold Red Stripes in your backpack. Some kid has this sick boombox and asks you what to put on. You already know exactly what you’re choosing. It’s gotta be King Pari.