I grew up in Huguenot. Every summer the mosquito man would come in his truck, a 1940's flatbed, as I remember, with a compressor in the back. Great billowing clouds of insecticide would emanate from it. The sound of the truck, the compressor could be heard before the truck was seen. It was a humming, sound -- loud like a million mosquitoes compressed in his contraption. The kids would spill out of the houses on the block to follow him. We would run behind, engulfed in this silver mist, drinking deeply.
Can you imagine?
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