That smell of rain on hot asphalt hit me walking past the bakery on 3rd and I'm suddenly six years old again, barefoot on Dad's produce cart while he juggled mangoes and told Mrs. Chen her tomatoes were "kissed by the sun himself" — she'd roll her eyes and buy double every time. Mom would've killed us for tracking mud through the kitchen but Dad just winked and handed me the bruised peach he'd saved, juice running down my wrists sticky-sweet. Miss that man something fierce. 🍑