Tuesday, 27 November 2001 | Smell

My office smells remarkably like nothing. I only notice the absence of smell because of the presence of smell elsewhere—the smell of freshly sharpened pencils in the hallway, bleach, hovering like a cloud around the bathrooms, and, just this week, the smell of Christmas in the lobby, emanating from a tackily-decorated tree. Just past the swish of the doors, the fragrance of fir bleeds into the faint scent of fallen leaves, unless it's just at the time of day when the city's tobacco is being processed, in which case, Durham smells like a giant unlit cigarette. Then it's highway, diesel exhaust and wind, and home, which smells like nothing either, but for an entirely different reason.