The warm promise of spring hinted in the air as I drove over the bridge, radio crackling old new wave music that faded with the wind rush of speed that filled my ears. The air felt somewhat humid and a slight dampness clung to my hair causing the ends to curl curiously. The smell at first was faint, like the marshy waters at twighlight on stiffling August evenings. It was both salty and heavy, covering everything it came in contact with. It reminded me of the fact that I have been longing to smell the sweet Summer smells, of strawberry twighlight in the fieldgrass or the permiating sexual frenzy of the rag weed. But if you were to breath in the marsh smell to deep it choked you like heavy lilac toilet water so heavily associated with old ladies who have blue hues to their puffs of white hair. Then the scent became like that of stale urine on the floor of gas staion restrooms. So fine tune the stereo and push the gas pedal harder and don’t let any one bury their faces in your hair for a few hours.