Church steeples competing across the plaza. Palmetto grass basket shacks spotting the tree tunneled high ways. Rainbow lined streets
Sound:
My sisters voice making up melodies to the rain drops. Swords clanging in parks from High School boys dressed in nickers and flowey blouses living in their World of Warcraft.
Smell:
(head cold Dominican Republic souvenir from Leslie prohibited this sense)
Taste:
Shrimp and grits washed down with a sweet tea vodka Arnold Palmer from Hominy
Touch:
Dodging tropical rain drops on bikes. The shock of chilled water drenching my right side as i clumsily miss the last step into the pineapple fountain we frequented back in the day when we wore matching homemade hair-bows and neon umbro shorts.
shrimp and grits, Arnold Palmer, country biscuit, pumpkin ginger bread=breakfast
pointing out the sneaky step that lead to my demise
rainbows
what happens at every and any sister outing
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