Fresh air, a little breeze. The smell of smoke. The scent of honeysuckle, apricots, dust after a sudden rain. The smell of bodies moving, dampness in subway corridors, garbage spilling from bins behind the restaurant, the musk of beer, of buses. A great distance to be travelled to the next town.
People are wary, hold bundles tightly, hear words as stone.
I am only following the rules. A habit like any other. They struggled one day to the next. Their house was full of symbols. They mixed their milk from powder, fed the cat from tins, redecorated.