It was like waking up in California— the awkward blossoms, the sky an aggressive blue. I remember the smell from your armpits, the greenhouse windows covered in white paint, where the air was heavy. The silver weeds. A small herd of farm animals at the Agricultural College wore the field to dust. The wind was hot and fresh on our faces. The donkey looked so dumb trying to walk. It was simple: Beneath your shirt was skin. I remember that first year, pulling your briefs from the hamper.