The water washes away the salt – the streets are caked in it – waves of it breaking up the pavement – where is that water – to wash it all away? The inevitable rainfall to seep into the roads – I skate around it – in between the wake from the wheels of vehicles – cars that compress the rocks into neat patterns and lines up and down the narrow streets downtown – it makes everything look colder – the stains of grey and white. Until eventually the waters come – or a big truck sprays it all away – or a plane filled with water and steam passes by low and overhead to dump gallons of heavy water like a jet meant to extinguish a forest fire with brightly colored pink fire retardant... as if – it would never rain again – when there is no rain left to clean the streets and the salts keep stacking and hardening into tall organic towers, nebulas of calcified masses that fatten and distort with sodium and veins of thick plasmic rock – but even then, the rain would wash it all away and the clean warm air would return – even when the planes won’t work.
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