Turning Torso passes by. Head rested against the bus window, you stare out with a blank expression on your face. It has just stopped raining. The flavour of absinth still lingers on your tongue. You drank a little too much, but the alcohol haze has worn off to the perfect amount.
The air conditioning isn't working.
You imagine the scent of petrichor in the warm summer air hitting you as you get off the bus.
The bus finally gets to your stop.
You get off.
You take a deep breath and you're instantly reminded of why you decided to move here.
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