|Tacos on La Brea|
It needs to rain here, but it won't because it's September, the hottest month of the year.
Memory: One time I was walking home from the pool in my neighborhood, wearing only my swim team bathing suit and some sandals. I was a very brown girl, tanned easily and never burned. A sheen of sweat on my skin, and drops off my scalp, down my face, my back. My skinny legs mosquito-bitten, knobby knees. I made my way up a particularly steep hill, the heat waves undulating off the black tar of the road. It was Georgia in August. I don't remember being with anyone, not even my sister. I stopped at someone's driveway, and little black dots danced in front of my eyes right before I collapsed.