It was the kind of day that made you wish for a cold mimosa instead of boots, but here I was, trudging up a dusty trail with this nature freak. My buddy, a wide-eyed optimist named Zach, had dragged me out here, saying it’d be “good for my soul.” I figured I’d have a better chance of saving my soul with a binge-watch and a nap, but what the hell, why not? The sun was an unforgiving bastard, beating down on us like we owed it money. Zach, of course, was practically skipping up the trail, pointing out birds and plants that seemed half dead due to the heat. “Look, BB! A Pickerel Frog!” he exclaimed, like I gave a damn. At least I didn’t have to live in this giant oven called Texas.