Fiction: The Spittle of Air Conditioners
<p>How strange it is, that in the dead of winter in Toronto in February is the height of summer in Buenos Aires. In streets of Yorkville people’s hoods are drawn around their faces on dark afternoons as they manouvre around snowbanks while in the parks of San Telmo, children yell and kick around soccer balls in the bright evenings. For Ashleigh who had just stepped off a long series of flights, the contrast was stark. She squinted at the runners in the bright sunlight, not the least dimmed by the dirty windows of her Uber as they arrived at her Airbnb in Recolleta.</p>
<p><a href="https://chrisreads.medium.com/fiction-the-spittle-of-air-conditioners-a38ccc76cff6"><strong>Read More</strong></a></p>