You were woken by the cries of seagulls circling above the neighboring house. A memory surfaces — so distant it feels almost imagined: a waffle cone with an enormous scoop of strawberry ice cream in your hand, old fishing boats rocking at the pier, a bandage proudly displayed on your knee after a tumble down the steep limestone stairs (was rushing to the pool really worth it?), a dusty little truck creeping along the cobblestone promenade with the glass bottles rattling ominously in plastic crates in its bed, a sharp pebble lodged in your sandal that you stubbornly ignore. Soon, your parents will return from the souvenir shop in that ancient tile-roofed house, bringing you a garishly printed sunhat — the one you’ll leave behind on the bus ride home. For now, though, you listen to the seagulls wheeling high above, though this moment deserved nothing less than Victor M’s mix for 5/8: radio. But how could you have known that back then?
