Chuck closed his eyes, threw his head back and inhaled the heavenly scent that reminded him of home, back in Kentucky.
His nose and lungs filled with air laced with the earthy, mind boggling aroma that made his spine tingle and his brain synapses dance.
Scenes filled his head: horses racing on a muddy track in spring, old men with big glasses cheering on their bet, pretty Myrtle in her yellow sundress playing coy as he tried to kiss her behind the bleachers.
Smells could do that – bring you back to a time when life was good, before you knew better.
The squeaky back door opened and Chuck’s wife Linda glared at him, her eyes moving to his hand and what he was holding.
Sometimes I just slip, he told her unapologetically as he stubbed out the incriminating cigarette in her pot of marigolds, pausing only briefly before following her back inside.
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