It is April and the trash is in bloom. Used napkins sprout joyously from every tree and bush. Shredded paper sprouts from the freshly wetted solid waste - it shifts and sways in the garbage-scented winds.
You stop to smell a plastic bottle-flower. It smells simply awful; the perfect combination of half-fermented sugar and pre-teen backwash.
Love is in the air, and it reeks of spunk.