Smells like

Time has a distinct smell. Not even retrospectively. Time, as it's happening, has a distinct smell.

This past winter smelled this kind of heavy refreshing wet smell. "Rude Boy" makes that smell. It's like the electronic something or other. The music video's weird, throw-back, and awesome. Something about the full length shots that makes the smell. Something that can't be explained.

I remember what soap tastes like when you drink it, or choke some down during bubble-blowing. That's what one summer smelled like, when I was kid.

I smell pretty distinct. Musty. Let me sit for a few days and all my stuff smells like it. I'm a nest-er. Nests have a distinct smell; ask any bird.

Some books buy you in just for the smell. It's low-grade combustion. Paper is burning, in a sense. Yellow. Give it long enough, black? It'll at least crinkle, crack, dry, and flake like ashes.

Brown is a smell I get and my nose, if I pinch it, smells like peanut butter. Shitty peanut butter. Not the kind I buy, but the kind a roommate might burn in the toaster. Or the kind some vegan might think is a solid meal on some spelted heavy-ass bread. Don't talk to me about heavy breads vegans, I like that stuff that comes in a can; the darkest of Ryes. You're doing it wrong.

Can't remember the smell of most foods. 530 pm always smells like pasta. Always; NPR "All Things Considered." I almost called Car Talk about a problem I had / have. Long, solo car rides leave car days later, smelling like the farts of days past. The issue here, isn't the car. It me. Perpetually solo / Rugged individualist, which I think means republican or at least libertarian.

The worst part about hating Ayn Rand, is being the main character of her novel "Atlas Shrugged."