‘ first day of spring. real spring. ’ cosmo starts with his arms extended, his fingers spread and thumbs perpendicular, like he’s half an identity crisis away from melting down to nothing, molding his raw materials into the vague shape of r.f. simpson, and framing his digits around the face of the studio’s next star. ‘ after all that waiting, it’s good and warm. cookouts, bonfires — you know the smell? ’
she’s in a three-legged race with cosmo’s nostalgia, carrying with her a perfect, whiffable trigger of his happiest memories from family brown’s midwestern suburban home.
‘ i don’t know where you’ve been, but you brought it in with you, ’ he says. he inhales with his chin up and his eyes shut, then slows his speech to match the mood. ‘ like heaven. ’
@fireslung, call.