I know, I know, let's move on. I'm feeling better, some time has passed, talk about something else. I have been, really. Trying to live as much as possible. My cold is almost gone, now, I can get up and not be sniffling and sneezing and eyes watering all the time.
I have all these other ideas, I'm going to write about something other than those fucking terrorists and what they've caused. And then, tonight, the smell came back. That burning plastic, electrical, city on fire smell. You know all those clichés about how the smell is the sense most closely linked to memory? They're true.
And all we can do is tell stories. But that's something.
