The smell of garlic hit me so
strongly and quickly that I instantly felt the need to find it. I was sitting
alone at the subcentral terminal reading my book and eating a bag of pretzels
that now seemed horribly inadequate. I turned my head and couldn’t see a single
eating establishment in this area of the station. But it was unmistakable.
People walked past me on their phones and tablets. No one else seemed to have
been disturbed by it as I had. I turned back toward the empty bus slip. My
stomach grumbled disappointedly as I returned to the bag of pretzels, but I had
missed the bus before in situations just like this one.
The station was gradually
growing darker as the sun set and the natural light diminished. It was a
gorgeous day that was turning into a disgusting night. The winds were picking
up and she expected that the bus would be driving through rain all night long.
At least that’s what the weather had predicted. It wouldn’t have been a
pleasant night anyway, but the threatening weather just brought a more ominous
feel to it.
She wished she could bring
her father whatever it was that she was smelling. He would probably love it.
Growing up in a chef’s house gave her a unique ability to identify how good
something would be from the smell. She couldn’t cook for her life, despite the
years of her father trying to teach her. Now he had given up and she was
starting to regret not trying harder. Maybe if she brought him the food, he
would see it as a gesture.
She didn’t have any more time
to think about it though. The bus pulled in and she gathered her bags and her
ticket for the long trip home.
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