Yesterday would have been a good day to begin an adventure.
I carried in my pockets
- 1 Children’s Book (presumably about some fairy kingdom)
- 1 Bandage
- 1 Roll of Tape
- 1 Plastic Bag
- 1 Wallet filled with monies, identification, and other things generally considered useless on an adventure
- 1 Phone which might as well be the Aleph – at least when it has signal
- and 1 Bag of Rye Flour
Hanging from my overcoat like some medieval sidearm was my black and gray umbrella – and I was on my way to see a professional at (among other things) pulling strange objects from out of his clients nostrils.
I am not yet sure what sort of an adventure it would have been – but it would most certainly have been good.
Instead I discovered that the world smells an awful lot more like gasoline than I had remembered, that restaurants (at least good ones) envelop you with a warm terry cloth robe of flavors the moment you walk through the door, that rooms have smells, and that my kitchen refrigerator is a lot closer to requiring a cleaning than I had previously realized.