23

Smell is the strongest sense tied to memory

The dull scent of slowly rotting wood mixed with stale hops... as if it had seen centuries instead of decades. The floor boards creak from the worldly concerns of the Regurlars, from ages of men shuffling their feet from their bottomless glasses to the urinal and back. All the smiles are genuine but they're still misplaced- companions in the trenches recognizing a familiar face... but they are all still in Hell. You look into their enlarged pores and pupils only to see the same story... perhaps slightly altering names, dates, and a few telling details to protect all those involved. Beads of sweat roll down and salt their rims right underneath their noses while they see the world through orange tinted glasses. I never felt like I should have been there; it was foreign and it felt forbidden. You always opened the door and were surprised with how quickly it would swing open but the moment you crossed the threshold, every movement slowed so that everyone could get a good look at you before returning to their respective internal monologues. I still feel guilty, ashamed for something I still quite put my finger on. I feel as though one must always have downcast eyes, as if it were a church. A church for the godless, the abandoned, the fallen- I was meant to be paying my respects I guess. This was no time to eat, drink or be merry but I was so naive. I ran up to the altar and downed the whole jug of sacramental ambrosia with a thirst twenty one years in the making.

And perhaps I wised up pretty quick. Or perhaps I already knew. But now I've been launched onto this planet without a map and I know only one thing: that I'm lost. Gravity is low here and my feet feel as though they are further from the ground with each new step. I try to pick up the dirt, try to get used to it, to understand it but its just sand that keeps slipping through my fingers. I know that mixed in are pulverized pieces of precious stones and metals of insurmountable worth but try as I may to hold on, I'm afraid its in their nature to escape with the rest.

My eyes burn, anticipating the tears that have yet to come.