Regional

The air is thick with the tide.

It smells like the place where I used to hide.

The stand was a box on the edge of the pier.

The only thing good that I ever found here.

The pretzel was hot and the salt was a crust.

The dough was a thing that a person could trust.

The grease spot grew wide on the brown paper bag.

The edges started to heavy and sag.

I ate it alone with my feet in the air.

The salt doesn't taste the same way anywhere.