You are alone, and it’s getting dark in the parking lot. You’re carrying the groceries for the next three days. You’ve just come from the gym. You’re going to get home, take a shower, scroll, and sleep to do exactly the same thing tomorrow.
Life is the brief moments you have in the afternoons, where you debate whether to go to the gym or rest at home. The moment your hands touch the car door handle, you see it. A flower. A radiant flower growing in a parking lot. A sensual and strange flower. A sweet vapor envelops you. You could almost chew it and make gum out of it.
It’s covered in honey or some kind of sticky nectar that fills the black asphalt. Honey and asphalt. You crouch down next to it, as if enchanted, and touch its stem, getting your whole hand sticky with its honey. You touch the asphalt; small pieces stick to you. And the asphalt remains black, but it’s covered in honey.