Warmth hits like the summer night we haven’t felt in a while. Little white hats bob up and down, teeny hammers tinker outside the glass of the bus window we travel through. They are building.
And we are brought into a little world where runaways have come to set up shop. Revitalizing ruins, music plays out of crumbling bricks and names scribbled on the wall with promises to be back.
In the dim of the fading street light, we peer down glowing alleyways bustling; making us change direction. No matter, there is time. We walk hand in hand as senses turn our heads this way and that. Twinkly lights strung, dipping color down the way; sugary chimneys made of donuts, lingering in the air like fire; cherry blossoms and ginger lemonades. Lovers kiss on benches; bookshop restaurants; flower gardens in window shops; and places you remember, holding onto the surroundings so you can return tomorrow.
Other places you want to turn away; abandoned boots beside decaying flowers, heels flung frantically next to shoes too tiny.