My nose directs me wherever I go. The smell of freshly baked bread can deter me from finishing the cleaning of my soap scummed bathtub. A dark roasted coffee stimulates my nostrils so intensively that I lose all capability to finish writing stories. The scent of the chip shop up the street can awaken me from even the dreamiest afternoon nap.
"What is that?" my nose questions.
"What is that delightful smell?"
After clothing myself in ever glamourous sweatpants and t-shirt, my nose and I set out on a hunt for the culprit. We exit my front door, taking a left, walking a block, ten miles, or less.
My nose is more determined than I. It pleads with the rest of my face and mind to move forward.
"Can't stop. Don’t stop", it says, "please keep going until we find it, whatever it is."
Along the way my nose inhales other scents not so pleasant. It is after all, New York City where a veritable smorgasbord of elements paints the sidewalks with their foulness.
Relentless, my nose overcomes the putrid and sour bouquets, thrusting me further, weaving in and out of Chinese, Jamaican, Dominican, Russian, and Turkish neighborhoods until finally we reach the specific domicile where all good smells are born.
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