The Old Pueblo

May 11, 2011
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It was 5:00 am on a Tuesday morning in mid-June. In a few hours the sun would rise and turn the world into a 103-degree oven. The heat waves would rise making the pavement look like a fake puddle, and ac’s would click on all throughout the city. Pools would invitingly offer their oasis from the harsh heat, and the metal seat belts would get ready to hand out their stinging burns. Friends would hit the resorts to fry themselves evenly using banana scented oil, and the ice waters would start rolling out.

But not yet. At this time the world was new. The birds begin to open their eyes and tilt their heads back to sing thankfulness for another day alive in the Old Pueblo. Workers softly prepare their toast so as to not wake their sleeping family. Store doors are unlocked and prepared for a new day. A fresh start. The coolness lies like a temporary soothing blanket over the parched ground. Drunken blondes crawl back into bed exhausted from the night’s excitement. The sleeping sky begins to smile with dim light and wears a hint of purple.

Mornings. The world turning a new page full of endless possibilities.

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