Day 224: The smell of a place you love

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The air smells clean and fresh here, as if it had never been tainted by mankind’s relentless rampage across the face of this earth. There is a hint of pine mixed with the salt breeze and the ever present smell of freshly baked bread floating from the doorway. It reminds me of my mother, who would bake a loaf a day while my brothers and I were at school. I smile as the scent takes me back.

I stretch in the warm glow of the morning and make my way down to the shore. The rowboat awaits me, small waves lapping against its sides. The fish are invading the clean air in this last bastion of hope, but they serve as a reminder that its okay here. I can live here. We can live here. I board my little rowboat and begin my morning routine.

It’s only a matter of time until the same smells that plague the rest of the world catch up with us but right now, we are safe in our small patch of nothing.

The Idiot in Tin Foil

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