Someone on the elevator was wearing the same perfume my mother wears. And I swear, I can’t name it, but that’s got to be one of the most comforting smells in the world. I wanted to follow the woman to her cube and just stand there, sniffing her like a freak.
2 thoughts on “Whiff”
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That’s odd. Today I dreamed up a short story about a boy who huffs his mother’s work shirt because she works at a chemical plant.
No connections.
I hope we can always share fucked-up stories about our fragile psyches.