Wednesday, May 1, 2013

That smell ...

"Can you smell my foot?"
I've barely settled in. My Former Landlord has an urgent tone.
"What?"
"Can you smell my foot?"

He explains something about an old tarp in his back yard and how it has collected a pool of swamp water. He went back there to move the tarp and stepped in the water and:

"Can you smell my foot?"
By now he has walked up to me. He's sort of balanced on his left leg, his right foot making its way toward me. He's holding it like a display piece. It's getting closer.

"No! No! No!" I say.
He looks puzzled.
"Can't you just smell my foot?"
"No," I say, and finally he understands. "Once I smell it I won't be able to unsmell it. Put it away."

He sits down again and there it is. A moldy waft of expired water.
"I can smell it," I say to him.
"You can smell it?" he asks. And he's already on his feet and making his way toward me again, foot extended.
"No. I can smell it. I can smell it now. I'm not going to sniff it. I CAN SMELL IT," I tell him.

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