The sun is out today; I can smell the freshly cut grass.

This weather, this smell, it brings back a shockingly vivid memory for me. It would have to be around 1993. I’m ten years old. I am probably in either fifth or sixth grade. Every day after school I’d sprint home from the bus stop. I’d bound down the steps, feel my feet hit the pavement, and like a bolt of blond lightning I’d take off. Feet moving as fast as they could. It’s the age where you feel like you can fly. Curbs are launching pads. Fresh grass a safe landing spot. Your neighborhood your world.

I’d get home and rush downstairs to my bedroom. Dive onto the bed, and pull out my copy of Calvin and Hobbes’ The Days Are Just Packed and lay there on my stomach reading the comics and eating Red Vines from a giant Costco sized tub.

It was perfect.