Thursday, September 16, 2004

My childhood smells like warm oranges and marijuana. It smells like chewable Flinstones vitamins, night blooming jasmine, and overheated speaker wiring. It smells like cheap beer and the sweat that comes from a long night of a roomful of people playing music together. Like hamburgers, like the inside of a motorcycle helmet, like rained-on dirt. Like shampoo, like the newly cracked spines of Dr. Seuss books, like sidewalk chalk.
If I could, I'd make it into a perfume, and then I would be four years old every day.

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