brainofck

The storms rolled in the next night. Violent thunder; lightening flashing and flickering through the translucent fiberglass roof; more lightening than I had ever imagined; rain pouring onto my house, shaking it. I made shourbet ads and dawood basha salsa hara on the propane stove, with the windows all rolled open, water sliding off the glass and misty droplets passing through the screens of the windows and open front door. The seasonings of these dishes of my childhood were comforting mixing with the smell of ozone.