The smell of bread--bread's scent, baking, warm--is in a hurry.
It, he, it is checking his pocket watch that it still carries. To be old fashioned. Expensive.
He knows the he's not going to be late.
He's always on time (Punctual would be a better term).
He really cannot be wrong while he's climbing, sneaking into the memory.
Because he's only a smell.
(It.)
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Bread's Scent
at 11:27 PM
Flavors: Red Velvet Poetry
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