I can smell it on you.

I walked to the mall today. It was warm out, it was a nice evening. I enjoyed the walk. I got into the mall, after walking through the parkade to avoid the wind (too difficult when it’s windy.) I walked into the mall, on one of the east entrances, and I saw a girl with long blonde hair. She was wearing one of those outfits that makes 14 year old girls indecent. And as I walked by, it struck me –

I can smell it on you.

It was the smell of a girl disgusted with life and disgusted with herself. It was the smell of a girl with salty tears. I walked past an old man resting on a bench. A small white Value Drug Mart bag in his hand and an old wooden cane in the other. As I walked by him, I made eye contact with someone I could not relate to. And then it struck me –

I can smell it on you.

Like the rotting stench of old age; like the cancerous odour of time; like Death himself. And I walked into the cafeteria and saw a pretty girl. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties. There was a small Sbarro cup in her left hand, being raised to her red painted lips. I walked by her, she was about two tables in from the walkway. And as I walked by, something struck me –

I can smell it on you.

The labourous aura of false beauty; the dancing scent of perfume; and the call of confidence. I then sat down next to my friend, who had already gotten his food. Spaghetti and lasagna. He turned to me, looked at my eyes, and said –

I can smell it on you.