The Speed of Scent

May 20, 2009

2:47pm. Riding on a small motorcycle at dinnertime when hungry isn’t wise — on Olympic BLVD you inhale the earth and thousands of years of cooking customs just going from the taquerias and foosball parlors on 17th to the fried plantains and red pork of the Jamaican dives (which are car repair storefronts during the day) on 11th, to the cabbagy stench of Korea on 9th to the fishy broths of Italy on 5th to the bacon-avacado burger diners on 3rd,  to the vinegary British pubs and pickled vegetables of the Indian joints at the end of road by the sea. Mix in the grass clippings by the high school stadium, the sweat on the necks sizzling up through the idling cars, the garbage in the alleys, the perfume on the promenade, the urine on the boardwalk….most nights I ride around as the sun sets and let my gut pull me from street to street, fighting its yeasty fight with the nose till I’m home with nothing.

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