Almost everyday, right before I turn the corner onto 21st and C, there is a man walking in the opposite direction. He's always carrying two briefcases and smoking a pipe. I smile when I see him because the pipe smell is so sweet, especially now that is it getting cooler out. I have no positive associations with spicy, sugared smell but there is something oddly inviting about this foreign, familiar smell.
He never smiles back, just looks right at me like something large behind me is about to fall. Then I pass him, turn the corner, and am hit in the face by the overwhelming smell of shit. Work crews are redoing pipe right below the State Department. The pipe smell is gone and I have to go to work.
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