The screech of airplane tires on the tarmac was a wakeup call back to reality. 

The intermingling smells of stale beer and jasmine, vomit and magnolia, hung in the French Quarter air.

The wasp nest waited for us each time we returned home.

Carl thought of himself as something of a master cat herder until the girl's school outing in the city.

The past was always there, clinging to the city like sweat on a summer's day.

The tastes and smells of her homeland were what she missed the most.

Miles' muted horn was a soothsayer to his hardened heart.

The memories flooded back when the plane began its approach.

They tore down and we built back up in an everlasting struggle that would make Sysiphus weep.

She was still amazed by the idea of starting her day at home and ending it at some far-off locale thanks to the wonders of modern transportation.

Steve veered wildly between self-promotion and self-flagellation.

His ego was so entwined with his career that every setback was a personal affront and every achievement an endorphin-spiked high.

The mice were happier in her home than she was.

There was, it turned out, plenty of money to feed, clothe, and house the poor, but then there would be nothing left for luxury yachts or Gucci handbags.

History burned quickly.

Our memories dimmed to black but the digital footprint of our purchases lived on.

The old rhythms of their friendship quickly returned.

The age-old question of the point of existence was finally answered thanks to social media: selfies.

science, art, music, and literature all burned nicely, but the best kindling for our bonfires was civility.

Billy couldn't understand how the son of a life-long law enforcement officer could have turned out to be such a bad seed.

The wall lay in ruins and the name of the builder had long been forgotten.

The ridiculous and the sublime coexisted but never bade each other hello when they crossed paths.

Humanity brought us together; humans drove us apart.

The sun, the tiny buds, the twitterings (a new season) had finally arrived.

The crimes of our ancestors were stuck on repeat.

The third way was more like a third rail, to Maddy's mind.

Cigarettes, booze, calling women broads, and beating information out of people were out and as an old-school private eye, Charlie just didn't know how to handle this new scene.

The scammers, sleight-of-handers, the fraudsters, and grandstanders had finally made it to the top of the heap. 

We either wanted to be them or tear them down, sometimes both.

She woke up that April 1st hoping the last three years had been an elaborate prank.