Mixing with the acrid and unrelenting, yet acceptably-faint whiff of general decay, cooled slightly by the ephemeral little crime scene of ice cube ejecta splattered out from the door in a typical direction, and peppered lovingly by the subdued olfactory chaos of an overfull dumpster, this sophisticated fug spreads out gingerly into the side street as it sets off on its fated journey of dissipation, where the hapless, sated and homebound pass on by, breathing straight through the last cohesive stretch of this invisible olfactory experience on its way up and out...
Yet on top of all this nasal flavor, the sensitive or experienced among them may smile fondly as they move along, may slow their pace in reverence, and brave few yet may even stop and search without looking, hoping to follow towards ever-denser hints, just over this fence, just beyond the dumpster, that somebody, or some friendly, inclusive circle of bodies, may be enjoying a reverie unmatched by the libations flowing on the other side of the wall... a reverie accompanied by its own acrid -- and for those who know, wonderous -- organic scent, uniquely and effortlessly overpowering every other smell available on this perfect night, perfectly out of sight.
Hey, Riggie, come on over here... *motions to their left side as they shuffle rightward to pinch a fat little joint coming their way*...
