A Delight for the Senses

When I think of all the ways the city ignites my senses, I reflect on sights and sounds and energy. Rarely did I think of smells. Yet in many ways, the smells are what I’ve noticed the most these last few weeks.

There’s the scent of the street, which is either bad or neutral, never good. Add up the number of dogs that live in a neighborhood, then multiply that by the number of times they get walked each day, then add the cosine of the gross tonnage of refuse that is awaiting pickup and multiple that all by the square root of the average daily temperature. No one’s doing anything wrong per se, but sometimes it’s just not sniffy-delicious. On the upside, I’ve found that these odors rarely permeate more than half a block at a time.

The Metro North train has a distinctive scent all its own. Some combination of overheated brakes, old vinyl seats, and older spilled beverages. Sadly, I’ve arrived home more than once to discover that my clothing smells just like the vinyl of those seats.

And finally, there’s the scent of home. Or rather, almost home. Every night when I step outside the train station in Harlem, the smell of fast food fried chicken hits me, and my nose knows I’m almost home. All I have left to do is walk one block to the subway, ride the express one stop, then walk home. How sad is it that fried chicken has become my homing beacon?