Olfactory Factory
Today, for whatever inexplicable reasons, my sense of smell seemed particularly acute.
Maybe I'm exceptionally allergen-free or something all of a sudden, but it was interesting. At first I thought it was merely a matter of coincidence, but the list of smells which I don't usually even notice kept growing.
A couple of girls at the office smelled like cherry Jolly Rancher candy.
The patio of the building smelled like blossoms, as did a spot in the park where there's a tree with tiny white flowers all over it.
The deeper woody part of the park had a really satisfying mossy smell.
A man next to me on the train smelled of cigarettes, and the girl across from me like spearmint gum.
Seymour St, on my walk home, was filled with the scent of weed.
The Caravan restaurant smelled like falafel. The elevator smelled like sweaty dog.
On my way to the bank I smelled donair and roast chicken and flowers and perfumes and cologne.
The beach, where I sat for a while watching one of the great blue herons who hang out there, smelled like mussels and decaying seaweed.
Denman St smelled like yakitori and fried fish and souvlaki and coffee.
The man in front of me on the bus home smelled like a cigar.
And my apartment, when I got back, smelled like the biggest, awfullest, horriblest cat turd I'd ever experienced. Thanks, cat.
Maybe I'm exceptionally allergen-free or something all of a sudden, but it was interesting. At first I thought it was merely a matter of coincidence, but the list of smells which I don't usually even notice kept growing.
A couple of girls at the office smelled like cherry Jolly Rancher candy.
The patio of the building smelled like blossoms, as did a spot in the park where there's a tree with tiny white flowers all over it.
The deeper woody part of the park had a really satisfying mossy smell.
A man next to me on the train smelled of cigarettes, and the girl across from me like spearmint gum.
Seymour St, on my walk home, was filled with the scent of weed.
The Caravan restaurant smelled like falafel. The elevator smelled like sweaty dog.
On my way to the bank I smelled donair and roast chicken and flowers and perfumes and cologne.
The beach, where I sat for a while watching one of the great blue herons who hang out there, smelled like mussels and decaying seaweed.
Denman St smelled like yakitori and fried fish and souvlaki and coffee.
The man in front of me on the bus home smelled like a cigar.
And my apartment, when I got back, smelled like the biggest, awfullest, horriblest cat turd I'd ever experienced. Thanks, cat.