I was happy then, because there were eight. I was happy because it smelt like ash and ukuleles; rushing water that could very very well break my neck.
I smiled and you smiled back blinded by a flash of everything, anything that happened in Decembers and Februaries and the warm air, lying thick on the back of your neck melted that flash clean until all I saw - all any of us saw - were blinking images of ourselves. caught unaware and griping but also so very happy.
It smelt like summer, like tires speeding up, up higher and higher until we crashed into the sky and fell down, cratering holes as acid rain.