The city smelled like wet concrete and old coffee at 5am

I'm standing on a street corner I've never seen, but the pavement has the exact same cracks as the one outside my childhood apartment. There's a man sweeping leaves into a pile that keeps rearranging itself, and I know if I turn around I'll see someone I've been avoiding, but the smell keeps me rooted — that specific mix of damp pavement and the dregs of someone else's morning.