During the grey winter months when the ground is frozen and the deciduous trees are bare, motionless, and dormant, I often find myself daydreaming of plush summers. Summers when the stench of the stockyards has crept its way abnormally further than usual, and peaked its putrid head far across the railroad track barriers of our Germantown neighborhood. Summers when the heat has reached ninety or above, and the humidity weighs on you like a soaking wet sweater worn in the sauna.  The same summers that blow the cap