Mczink

Burning asphalt, the sun that heats it relentlessly. The smell of the tire rubber, and that special smell of the interior of my rental car.
Yes, the Interlude Man catapults me into vacation. Right into a shady parking lot surrounded by pine and pine groves somewhere on the Mediterranean. The peculiar smell of heat bringing the interior of our rental car to life. The dashboards, the steering wheel, the upholstery. And then the tires. The rubber in the heat as it bonds with the asphalt. This heavy odeur is perhaps the interlude on this light summer day. Interlude Man is more than just a little interlude, though. It is the prelude. For a big evening, a dinner, an opera. For me, however, it is a window into a long-forgotten world, somewhere under pines near the Mediterranean, through which I roam again as soon as Interlude Man envelops me with its scent.