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You find a pair of underwear at the bottom of your hamper. You think they’re fresh. Theyre not. They have crusted cum all over the crotch. You pull them close and take a deep whiff.
You suddenly picture cigarettes. You’re teleported back to a couple months ago when you were hanging around with a friend who was smoking and the smell is just lingering on the clothes you were wearing at the time. Stale smoke.
A Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki footling on jalapeño bread. But you bought it a couple hours ago and it’s been sitting in your backpack. Your sweat seeps through your backpack and the scent combines with the sandwich musk.
