We ran as easy as our bodies would allow, the trails greasy and overgrown, wet leaves and stalks slapping our legs. The air hung heavy, just barely able to hold its water. Everything dripped.

September ought not be this green. A human being ought not sweat this much.

Still, we could smell entropy, organic decay. Wet, dead leaves dotted the wooden foot bridges. When this humidity breaks, fall will rush in to stake its claim. I just know it.