The wind slashes at us all the way up the hill.
She lingers in her daydream. Its air smells like a bakery, and its streets are cobblestone. Roses burst from a breach in the wooden fence around her Queen Anne house.
Sidewalks held together with cement, gum, and mashed litter.
It's a rumbly night with noises from parts unknown.
Receive an email from her. Attached, a selfie with our faces wreathed in hearts.
A movie stitched together from nostalgic moments, explosions, and characters who arrive with pre-packaged, top-level abilities. Dressed conveniently in white for good, black for bad.
An academic article, written as if each sentence was held to a fire and partially melted.