I stick my head out of the window to smell the air. Breathing deep other people’s breath, their cigarettes, and cars. The couple who lives across from us share a kiss and I breathe that in too, their tiny sighs float through my lungs and into my heart. The spicy perfume of the city rests in my throat, my own breath becoming part of it. I like to imagine everything in fall colours. The perfume is brown and orange, like crackling leaves, and startlingly red in some places, like a burst of noise.

There are people like leaves too, some young and green, bending delicately and almost glowing with new life. Then there are people like dying leaves, cracking unexpectedly underneath even the softest footfall. I’m terribly afraid of withering under the hot sun and the dirty faces of the scyscrapers.