A hot day is either at the end of June, or at the beginning of July. You are in your father's car. He's at the wheel, with his brand new T-shirt and favorite Turkish aviators on. Your mother on the passenger seat in a spacious flowery shirt and a wide straw hat on her head. You are rushing along the asphalt thread of the road, sandwiched between fields stretching towards the horizon, overgrown with tall weeds (you are especially struck by the alien-looking “umbrellas” of the hogweed). A hot wind blows through the open windows. It smells of cigarettes, heated plastic and wildflowers. You lean back in your seat, close your eyes, and expose your funny little face to the sun. At this very moment you feel very good, and you don’t even seem to understand that all this is just an illusion caused by the melodies and rhythms of the SOL’s mix for 5/8: radio
