Tuesday, June 3, 2008


That fresh-baked cookie smell in the hallway comes from the Winston’s apartment.  I’ve heard that it’s far from fresh-baked cookies. 

The Winston’s have lived in this building the longest.  Never one complaint about them.  In fact, I can’t remember the last time I even saw them.

Their downstairs neighbor says he hears them shuffle around at night.  And some odd, bowling ball sound type noise.  During Halloween, their door is decorated in red, shiny Xmas wrapping paper.  And for Xmas, they put up cottonball cobwebs.

I know for a fact that the wife’s retired.  From where, I don’t know.  You can hear her talking to the husband in low tones every once and a while when you pass by their door.

But that smell.  It seems too processed, too perfect to be real cookies.  It kind of smells like one of those car air fresheners that hangs on your rearview.  You know those?  Except just like one of those, it’s overpowering, like it’s trying to hide some other smell.  Chemically enhanced cookies.

I’ve never seen them go in or out though.  Weird.  But they’ve always been there.  Have a feeling they always will be.


Oh, the deposit’s $150.  You want six months or a year?



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