01. the aroma of smoked cigarettes withering in the breeze, the scents left behind by friends, city nights, meandering conversations in vermillion-lacquered interiors

02. little elephants, crafted from clay, plastic or beeswax, scattered throughout elka's apartment like little forgotten talismans that, when remembered, will illicit a smile at some folly or moment of joy

03. cigar boxes, gifts from jimmy when he worked at the cigar shop, subtly perfumed and flourished with blossomy names and gilt insignias from faraway tropical climates;

that summer, the afternoons were gilt flourishes punctuating the end of my morning work-shift as a barista, when i would write in the shop's garrett amidst stacks of ancient magazines, movie star cigarette ads, the scent of cedar and the liking of fine things;

sometimes i would peek over the banister at jimmy ringing up another sale; sometimes he would look up, wink, and tell me to get back to writing and only after i've written a few pages would he pull the stairs down for me;

the lids to these cigar boxes are shut tight over photos, notes for future stories, fortune cookie slips I will later insert into our smiling blue buddha boy bank, and pins featuring sad-eyed teeth

04. coffee grounds as damp as my pillow last night

05. neighborhoods that smell like lit charcoal and hot pavement, porches brimming with men and the despair of generations

06. quiet cool loft filled with dishes and clothes and books waiting; even the owls are waiting

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