Aug
25th
Tue
25th
Ambushed by hostile tribesmen
There’s a stretch on Broome, starting at Allen and moving West two or three blocks, that always smells terrible. Not terrible like summer garbage or a fish market, but inventively terrible.
It’s always something you can’t name. Spoiled pork? Mildewed bean sprouts? Shrimp casings melted in the sun? Can’t say. None of these. In dramatic moods, it smells like the smell of death.
