The afternoon sun beats down on you and in your hand is a nectarine you purchased from a stall this morning and it is perfectly ripe. The juice runs all the way down your forearm until it touches your elbow as you bite into the fruit, and it is so sweet and it tastes like all the sun and like all the summer youβve ever known and so for a while you just sit. You close your eyes and you lick your lips and listen to the waves lap onto the shore and the cicadas serenading the sea. The air is heavy with Pine and with Ocean and with that delicious Nectarine and your mouth is watering and so you release your inner-fatty and scoff the rest of it in several swift bites and then sit in the sun with your sticky hands outstretched, palms facing the sky.
