Nny-chan

Florida is filled with summer children. They run through the streets, flip flops and tank tops and laughter filling the air with familiar sounds. These Florida children, who seek air conditioning and shade, maybe something cold to drink or eat, sit in the parks and strum guitars. Sometimes there aren't even words, just music, the kind that makes you miss your true childhood, the kind that makes you remember everything as if it's sliding in and out of focus, looking up at a friend through the tall grass, yellow flowers and fuzzy, indecipherable talking. You remember everything, through a seemingly antique lens, yellowed and faded, summertime