Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, May 23, 1921

The evening is oppressively warm; this year’s spring has developed too rapidly; a pall is over the sky; to the south a thunderstorm hangs motionless, spreading over the heavens in a huge gray expanse; four fellows in blue suits and straw hats come next door, and sit on the porch steps. Two young girls come mincing down the street, and stop to talk, although the men are cool. This play continues off and on. I go upstairs; the room is hot and stuffy, outside the cool black shade under the bushes and trees looks enticing; I hear voices under my window. It is the two girls again they are spying on the four fellows. Suddenly one says “There they go down the street; let’s run down the alley and down High Street and meet them as they come down Vine Street.” And off they sped into darkness, giggling and laughing.    

Charles E. Burchfield, May 23, 1921 –