Margaret Sefton<p>After witnessing the customers outside under a murderous Florida sun litigating their case with the manager over whose turn it was to use the air pump for their tires, she remembers a winter’s day on the intercoastal waterway--the diamond qualities of the river, the gentle sway of palm fronds--a sensory Proustian madeleine she finds herself returning to in such moments in the break room during her tiny respite, the vent blowing cool air on her neck. <a href="https://writing.exchange/tags/MastoPrompt" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>MastoPrompt</span></a> <a href="https://writing.exchange/tags/vent" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>vent</span></a> <span class="h-card" translate="no"><a href="https://mastodon.scot/@stevencudahy" class="u-url mention" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">@<span>stevencudahy</span></a></span></p>