I awoke this morning to a stinging sensation behind my eyes. You know, the type of sensation caused by drinking a half a bottle of bourbon by yourself while listening to man in camo overalls tell tall tales of his life growing up in Minnesota. 

I didn't have much time to collect myself before the cabin door flew open once again. It was Hunter. After seeing all of the audio equipment strewn about the room during his visit the previous day, he felt compelled to ask a million questions and take the gear for a spin. Laced between a handful of emphatic "be careful with that!" exclamations, I showed Hunter how to play around with different synthesizer sounds on my keyboard, how to record and play a loop, followed by instructions on how turntables work. He also spent a good deal of his time running around the inside of the cabin in circles, which is apparently a favorite past time of many third graders. After some time, I finally got Hunter to admit that Mel had indeed sent him over for a reason, and that was to invite me to have lunch with them.

Hunter and I soon headed back to their cabin to enjoy some Hamburger Helper and more of each other's company. Once again, I found myself sitting across from Mel at the kitchen table conversing as he finished the bottle of Vodka I had bequeathed to him the previous night in exchange for the meals, company and the delicious Ice House he continued to feed me. After many, many consecutive hours of Hunter begging Mel to teach him how to play cribbage, and due to their upcoming departure, I decided to say goodbye and wish Hunter a happy upcoming birthday, heading back to my cabin for the evening. I promised Mel that I would send him jerky that I plan to make when I return to Chicago in exchange for his friendliness and hospitality.