I looked up Terry’s address. Bad neighborhood. I put on Slumberhouse Baque to smell like rotting fruit and tobacco. Maybe I can fool the street dogs into believing I’m walking compost so they won’t attack. It doesn’t work. I smell right (wrong) but am dressed too preppy. They can see right through my Michael Stars white and navy striped sweater with yellow boat neck collar. Terry doesn’t have a doorbell. I form indentations on my knuckles knocking on his black […]

Categories: scents, stories • Tags: michael stars, slumberhouse baque, Tracy Chapman