The first day of summer. Stank of a homeless person, gently baked asphalt, lilacs mixed with motor oil.
Burnt rubber, fried fish and plantains, fatty pork, an old woman pushing a shopping cart and sweating off her old woman perfume.
Warm and humid air sliding on my skin.
Sentimental, happy, the element of danger, heightened awareness, watching to avoid getting doored.
Winter is why we love summer so much. It’s the flyover season.