Walking around downtown this hot, blistering day, my senses were particularly acute. I tend to be hyper-aware of everything: the waves in the backs of my thunder thighs, a zit that's starting to coagulate on my face (unbeknownst to the casual observer), certain smells, be them pleasant or offensive, a tiny thread hanging from the seam of someone's sleeve or collar etc... Today, however, I knew that Summer had really, I mean really, arrived as I took in the sights, sounds and smells of this fine, hot day... That unappealing spillage of skin o'er top ill-fitting, low-rise jeans known as the Muffin-Top was abundant today. The trend presented itself in a variety of skin tones, flabbage, body types, and bottoms. This undying movement didn't discriminate as I watched women (and some shirtless, sun burnt men) jiggle and bounce down the street, just as carefree as you please. I was both fascinated and repulsed. Reeling from jelly I obviously wasn't ready for, I looked down at my watch to check the time, when various patterns on the pavement caught my eye. Ahhh, the ubiquitious loogy, spat carelessly on the sidewalks in various shapes and colors, drying in the sun. Ohhh, look, my heel just happens to be smack dab in the middle of one! Disgusted, as I stepped forward, sideways, and forward again... a dance to sidestep the spit splattered on the pavement, I spied the dried pigeon droppings... some freshly splattered, some also drying in the sun. So far this Summer symphony is absolutely rhythmical. Everything seems par for the course so far. Anything less would simply not be an acceptable sountrack to this glorious season. Simultaneously sidestepping dried pigeon droppings, loogies spat from the depths of clogged throats, and avoiding flagrant eye contact with gelatinous mounds of flesh, I made my way down the street and smiled at the familiar sight and smells emanating from the Senegelese vendor's stand as I got closer. I made my way over, as exotic oils and delicious looking luxury purse knock-offs greeted me. I browsed the rows of trendy sunglasses and hats. I fingered the good enough renditions of overpriced luxury designer purses. I saved the best for last. I sniffed every last bottle of spicy, sweet, and sensuous perfume oil... vanilla, frankencense, lick me all over, black coconut, vanille musk, Issey Miyake... mmmm... The vendor recognizes me as being a previous customer and offers me a free half bottle (he gave me more than half) of any oil of my choosing, much to my delight! I was partial to the vanilla, and chose that one. As I thanked him and turned to leave, I was greeted by... "He told me! Then I told him, but she said she didn't tell him and then I go mad becuz..." and then "I get out at 5:30PM! I was thinking of going to happy hour!!!..." and "My car was completely totaled! ... " People loud, bold, and obnoxious talking on their cell phones. The various snippets of conversations I overheard created a hodge podge of unintelligible sentences, strung together to round out this cacophonous symphony. There're also the seemingly manic crazies who crawl from underneath their moist rocks, when Winter wanes, stomping down the street carrying on loud discussions with themselves, screaming obscenities... the look in their eyes wild and feverish... ... not to be outdone by couples, engaging in loud arguments with each other... growing more agitated with each verbal expletive hurled at one another... This symphony is an uneven, disjointed, disharmonic one. But it's music to my ears.