#64

A persistent rain peppers parched pavement. Knocking loose pungent scents. Scents wafted into unprepared nostrils that flare and buck. Urban petrichor—urine, car exhaust, pigeon dust. Scents elbowing loose associations undesired. The stale vomit odor of a garbage truck roaring by, conjuring nights spent hugging a shiny white toilet, stringy bile and saliva stuck to lip and chin. The dank sour milk and mildew smell of human hardship, of concrete bed and cardboard bedding and these are the only clothes I have and please sir can you spare some change for a bus ticket. Fresh paint, sweet and toxic and reminiscent of your nomadic life, painting, moving, painting, moving. All the while wet rainbows rush, race to be the first to spill into the dark sewers hidden below. Taking with them the grit and grime accumulated, earned. Wiping the slate clean.