I went to read a book I’d lent to my brother and he’d returned to me about a year ago…once I opened the pages, the thick, but stale stink of cigarette smoke filled my nose, and possibly the rest of the room. He must’ve read the entire thing while chain-smoking… the scent was incredibly horrid. I don’t mind a little cig smoke, but this was something else. It amazed me that the tome managed to hang on so tightly to that aura … I had to close the book and put it back on the shelf. I find myself wondering if it’ll smell that way forever, until it’s aired out somehow. If an archaeologist found it in a hundred years and opened it up, would it still blast that scent in a billowing cloud of century-old particles?
The book was Great American Ghost Stories, by the way.
GrayPumpkin (Who will be in town with Katt starting Wednesday) reminded me of The Surrealist Compliment Generator – Your face is like an imperfectly shaven tennis ball. And yes… in some ways, it is. However “The ocean’s foam matches the froth of hair streaming through your lips.” is a bit much.
Two cool case mods – Habitrail & Easy bake oven