Twenty Seven

Taillights like domino dots, only red. The anticipation of what a summer night could yield as palpable as the humidity at the intersection of then and now, where I idle. At least there’s a breeze. Windows down, the heat backed off enough to coax me out of my air-conditioned, sensory deprivation pod, arm dangling out the window, hand air surfing, dipping and diving, ribbons of warmth weave through my fingers like batter. Moist. Night. Air. Motown streams from the … [Read more...]