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RE: The Artist's Survival in Steem City (fiction)
That was some beautiful writing! I felt as though I was on one of those...not sure what they're called, those chairs that glide along on a thick steel wire high above the city. I could even smell roasted peanuts and other sundry sidewalk foods.
Like a ski lift maybe? My old neighborhood (W 88th) typically smelled like pizza and flowers on one end, coffee and exhaust on the other, as I recall. Whenever I see fresh white lilies in arrangements around here, I have to stop for a sniff, to take me back to the City again. I'll be walking through the grocery store taking pictures of cakes and stuff, and suddenly it'll smell like the Upper West Side, and I know those lilies are nearby somewhere. Of all the smells, it's funny how I've taken that flower's scent as my ticket back to the City, I guess there were lots of florist shops along the Avenues up there where I walked most.
I've always been fascinated with smells being a gateway to places, time periods, memories. It's always a welcomed gift, and so fleeting. Sounds can do it too- strong, sturdy zippers always take me to camping trips of yore :)