Wood.
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Poor Devil
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Discriminating Odors.
How do I know I’m gay? God gave me a sensitive schnoz. To put it delicately, when it comes to the olfactory emanations of certain blossoms particularly when they’re blooms of a certain season - it’s no Summer’s Breeze. And while the beauty of spring may endure I really don’t want to be surrounded by the smell of Bradford Pears which outside of this overgrown metaphor is still the closest descriptor I know… yack!
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Listen about a minute in…. is that a ‘smoker’s cough’? nice.
Tomorrow.
Yeah, can’t wait!
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