After the rainstorm, we go for a walk in the park, through air so thick it feels like you could grab handfuls of it and shove them in your mouth, and they’d be chewy. It’s not for breathing, this air, it’s for drinking.
Invisible runners plash on the asphalt as they come up from behind, and their footfalls recede into leafy darkness. The humid air somehow limits the reach of the streetlights, turning every pool of illumination into a little respite in what is otherwise impenetrable cloud.
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