The smell of hot pavement makes me crave a new skipping rope. A brand new, pink plastic, skipping rope. I can feel myself stretching it, my right foot holding it on the ground while I pull up as hard as I can on both handles.
I can feel myself swinging and skipping and tripping… hastily looking around to see if anyone notices. Hoping no one did. Stopping to stretch the rope a little if there was anyone watching, as if the 1/4 inch give was what caught up my feet and not my winter of unused skipping muscles. Stretch, stretch.
Then starting all over again. Back and forth. Forth and back. skip, stumble, skip, skip, stumble, stretch, stretch, skip, skip, stumble. Until I can skip the whole block without getting out of rhythm.
All sensation triggered by the smell of hot pavement.
Dad says that for him the smell triggers memories of new lacrosse sticks.
Where are you transported when you smell the sun on the pavement?