an omg wtf moment

New York is the first city where I felt physically offended by what I was smelling. I’ve gotten annoyed with the results of sealed poubelles in Paris, and completely absent bins in London. Never have I smelled a stink like the one a few days ago on our way crosstown to Lexington Ave, just a block away from the Waldorf that was being colonised by the UN. It was a genuine ‘Oh my God what the fuck is that?’ moment. I covered my nose. I breathed low. Nothing worked. I didn’t want to breathe with my mouth because the problem of that smell was that it was so offensive. I did not want it in my body. My quasi-little brother Henry, who was with me during the olfactory attack, he said that such stinks were normal in the city. You can have this wonderful moment in NYC that is completely ruined by a smell so bad you just want to run. And he’s right. New York makes you understand what olfactory nerves mean, since your subjected to their assault far too frequently. We hotfooted it down the street until we got away from that smell. I still don’t know what it was. There are a lot of smells in New York that I don’t want to investigate. And they always turn up suddenly, like some invisible thug waiting around the corner, ready to punch your nose in the face. This week was inhabited by such a cacophony of smells (not scents; scents are nice, friendly creatures who invite you to sit down, have a drink and enjoy some fantastic rhythm and blues) that when I ended up walking through Chinatown I was relieved. Finally, organic smells. Strange and unknown to me, they were at times not pleasant, but I knew what they were, I could see their source lying outside in crates and bags and boxes, staring back at me in all shapes and sizes. Whatever it was that attacked us a block away from the Waldorf… that belongs on some ABC weapons list. That was just wrong.