Florida scrub heat. White powder sand. Palmettos. The clicking of insect wings in the still air.
Sand so fine it works its way through the fabric of your shoes. Sweaty dirt between your toes. ‘Dirt tan’ rings at the tops of your socks.
Sandspurs.
Sky.
Drinking Kool-Aid from the plastic cooler/pitcher that leaked all down your front no matter how careful you were.
Slick wet tree bark and two-by-four steps to an ageing rope swing.
Things you can jump off of into the water.
Canoe blisters.
Wet tennis shoes.
Alcohol and vinegar solution from a ketchup bottle in the ears. The hot, pungent sensation of it as it ran down your neck.
The cool water at the bottom of the lake, the muck that your feet sank into.
The smell of lake muck.
The smell of everything when it gets hot. Like a red Tupperware lunchbox that’s been left in the car all day.
Road heat. Grass heat. Car heat. Sidewalk heat. Baseball diamond heat. Parking lot heat. Boardwalk heat.
The bench seat of a VW camper van. Orange and brown plaid interior.
Trying to make the Star Wars laser sound by hitting telephone pole cables with wrenches.
Crowded back of a light blue Plymouth K Car. No AC. Sweaty and newly hairy adolescent knees sticking to each other.
Cigarettes on the beach. Cigarettes in the mall.
Hollow brass door knobs.
Sour laundry.
The cold air blast of a HARTline bus.
The sound of a bicycle chain with sand in it.
Everything fixed with tape. Sticky, hot, tape residue on everything.
The inside of a car’s ashtray.
Dashboard foam split by heat.
Lawnmowers that don’t start.
The dampness at the back of an aluminum shed.
Chain link everything.
Dog runs along the fence. The way the dirt piles up in the corners.
The taste of water from a sun-baked garden hose.
Palmettos.