A few years before I had Paris as my backdrop, I studied abroad in London for three short months. Rationing all of my weak dollars for pints and their resulting kebabs, the only thing I could afford from the Portabello Market was my very first clementine. I plucked off its leaves and the skin snapped open, spritzing the air with its parfum. Each segment took me to a sunnier place. I had my first clementine of the season this weekend. And it instantly transported me back to my very first, a little taste of sunshine in an equally grey place.
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