With his new sneakers and cords in one hand, Wife in the other, he saunters into yet another store selling kids' clothes. Instantly he looks for the customary benches set aside for the husband or boyfriend. He finds one, gestures to the Wife and plants himself down on it.
The smell of the store brings back memories of packaged biscuits, hospital food and freshly laundered scrubs. The relentless Christmas songs of the present fade out. He is back in the tower where he used to peddle samples of his blood for cash. He is thankful he had prominent veins.
To him odors are a lot like Portkeys. They transport him to where he first encountered a smell. He wonders when the invention to capture smells will arise - just as cameras capture images and microphones capture sounds. Maybe it is already out there, and he is just too lazy to look for it on the Web. It will need a catchy name though - sniffera, coolwhiffs, rec-odor. Or maybe just perfume.
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