Unleaded, Unleaded, Premium Unleaded by Eric Graham
Today on my bike I smelled violet and rice, together, in a hot blast. I don't think I would have noticed this combination were it not for Katie Puckrik's recent review of Love, Chloé (a perfume I'd hoped would smell a little bit more like what I smelled on the street today). I was riding past a Chinese restaurant and a flower shop, but it can't be as simple as that, can it? On the corner near these two stores there's a gas station that has the faintest odor of any gas station I've ever sniffed; it's a real letdown. Another gas station in my neighborhood was mysteriously abandoned today, cordoned off by a big tornado fence and bright orange construction tape. It looked like a crime scene, a diorama of a suburban ghost town. Off my bike, an oddly sour smell seemed to follow me all evening, but I refused to accept I was its origin. I can be stubborn that way.