something smells.

it seems scents are always divided into good or bad. they accompany among other things, a boquet of flowers, a fine wine, a stop in a gas station [restroom], or a trek past a dumpster. in other perfectly mundane moments, scents go hardly noticed untill there are none, and it is in those perfectly uninteresting moments, can some of the most interesting things be perceived.

smells like the midwest, i say as i step out into the night after an evening class. what does that mean? tanya asks with a puzzled look on her face. the smell, i say, there's something about the smell; it smells.. green. from a warm passing shower earlier in the day, the humid air becomes a soup of woody, grassy, and earthy scents, which eddy about with a slight evening breeze. the "midwest smell" is particular - green, yet not crisp, grassy, yet not freshly-mowed. warm and earthy, the smell i've often called napervillian, after a chicagoan suburb, is immediately recognizable, yet difficult to describe. it is only on those rare occasions in other parts of the world, where the weather will concoct the perfect mix of smells to make me breathe and sigh, it smells like naperville.

rolling down the window of the car, i send a cool blast of air rushing into my face as the vehicle i am in charges down lincoln avenue. for the first time in half a year, i take in the smell of home, and for the first time in over a year, i really pay attention. the smell tonight is refreshing and relieving, a complement to the feeling of completion, return, and respite. as i zoom along the park, the smell of eucalyptus and night seems well suited to the clear evening sky.

as the car pulls alongside the curb in front of the house, i step out and inhale deeply. here, the salty smell of the sea brings a welcoming peace. while chicago did have its great lake, there was something strange about it - something about the neon-aqua color it occasionally took on, the thought of it as chicago's old sewage resevoir (and drinking water source), the news stories about its [randomly] high levels of bacteria and parasites, its lack of crashing waves, and generally odorless nature (so it seemd to me). something about the lake felt artificial and vegas-y, where the venetian canals smell like nothing and mandalay's wavepool smells like chlorine.

as i type at my desk, the distant bellows of foghorns cut though the pervading mist, and filter into my room though an open window, along with the yowls of a restless cat. the air outside smells clean and cool, a mix of pine, sea, and a faint hint of skunk. the night is alive, and despite a blackness that cloaks everything besides a few lit windows and street lights, a fragrance of night gives sight to the blind in this perfectly uninteresting moment.

these days men know the price of everything and the value of nothing.
: wilde.