LXXIV

Everything smells like gasoline around here. More accurately, everything smells like a combination of gasoline and tamarind. More accurately, everything smells like gasoline, tamarind and week-old kitchen sponge. More accurate yet, everything smells like gasoline, tamarind, week-old kitchen sponge and Sunday newspapers. You know what? Everything smells exactly the same to me anyway, so all I do is come up with intriguing combinations of objects that I believe may smell like the one melange of odors I’m constantly whiffing. I apologize for taking up so much of your time, good sir–it may never happen again.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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