The pungent tang of crops and livestock wafted across the yard as the boy took the crisp, ink-scented notes from his father. He splashed on some aftershave and took off for the windy city.
He drifted through the heady mix of alcohol evaporating into the air, perfume and cigar smoke, until the wedge was gone. The smell of fear and famine struck, and the boy’s nostrils were filled with the stench of pigs and their rotting food. He even longed to fill his stomach with the putrefying, mouldy compost material.
The light went on in his head and he realised the joyful aroma of his father’s love.
He prepared himself to be a stinking servant, but his father saw him from afar. He ran up to him, kissed him and hugged him. It was obvious he’d not had a shower. He gave him a ring, a coat which smelled of conditioner, leather shoes, and some lovely warm beef in a rich aromatic gravy.
‘My son was a decaying corpse, but now he’s my ever-fragrant boy!’
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