On like morning
I like the smell of the air just before and after it rains, when the freshness of the air is clean like laundry out of the dryer (but less face-burrowingly warm). Laundered air. I like the way the rainclouds charge inexorably across the half dome above my head, and do you know that wherever you stand, you're always standing in the exact epicenter of your horizons, and directly under your zenith? On the way back from Spanish, I stood at the crossroads leading to Rootes buildings and thought that I would like to raze all the buildings and trees and geographical nonentities (like, mountains) to the ground, just to prove that I really am
dead
deceased
center of my world. Then I walk the 472 steps back to my block, but who's counting? I wish that the air could always smell like just before and after rain, but without, you know, the rain.