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.