index
1)
When I opened the window just now there was no fresh morning air streaming in as I had anticipated. Instead, a glug of strangely thawed air spilled through the crack. A strong smell of decomposing plant matter from the unkempt backyard quickly filled the room. This is how the end of the Ice Age must have smelled like, I thought.
Later, as I made my way through the busy Friday afternoon streets of the inner city, I couldn't help but notice the mysterious wet film that still covered every surface. It hadn't been raining in over four days and the air hadn't felt particularly humid to me either. Where had all this water come from?
2)
Today the air is fresh, not cold. As I wait at the bus stop for my bus to arrive, the day feels like a Saturday. The mild motion of the air makes me dream of childhood early mornings in three star hotels. Shaded slabs of sandstone skirted by patches of green lushness. The chatter of parrots fills the air and silently echoes back from the not yet populated balconies. The quiet anticipation of another day of comfortable nothingness and turquoise water. The rubbery smell of banana leaves, jasmine and chlorine. Later, under the scorching sun they will swell to a saturated, complacent drone.
3)
A few hours ago the sun disappeared into a solid white haze. The dampening air creeps into my hair and under my skin. My hair looks dull, mildewy. Shadows settle over my features. Trapped inside the glass of the train windows my reflection looks back at me like a devil. I can see the exact spots where the horns are trying to make their way through the bone of my forehead.
4)
There are a lot of areas in the city where you can hear the screams of seagulls, even when you can't. The briny smell of the sea, somewhere just beyond the horizon. Coastal lifestyle: The architecture and people are swaddled in light beiges and creams. Images informed by a bunch of generalized ideas inspired by the word "Kurort" come to mind. I watch my environment pass like colorized postcards. There's an undeniable importance in my step. I know where I’m going and it is a place the colour of money bills.