John slept anywhere and everywhere and at any time. He would roam the house at the early hours looking for a bed, a couch, or a sleeping bag. He could be found asleep at mid-day in front of a blaring television set, legs crossed and head between his legs. But he was never, ever tired when some mischief was afoot. I do not recall him excusing himself from any activity because he didn't feel up to it. He ran until he dropped, and he dropped all over the place.
A good ride on the slip-n-slide required three things: enough water to overcome friction; enough ambient heat to make sliding into the cool water a pleasant experience; and grass underneath the slip-n-slide to cushion the impact. Our backyard didn't always have the third one in adequate supply. We had St. Augustine, the Original Sin of SoCal landscaping. We would lay out the plastic to cover what we thought was the best stretch of grass, and hoped that there weren't any hidden rocks or divots lurking beneath. This was one of the few activities where John could barrel headfirst without much risk of injury, and from which he would emerge without a dirty face. Note: the sprinkler head provided most of the water, but that water jet coming in from the side? That's a leak in the hose. We utilized everything at our disposal.
After a long day mediating mundane conflicts between the supernatural and the undead, there's no better way to relax than with a cold can of Brew 102. Unfortunately Brew 102 went out of business, so John settled for Coors.
