The scent of someone else's cooking, meat sizzling in oil on the stove, definitely reminds me of home. I'm sitting here, doing my own work, absorbed in MetaFilter and link-following, and that scent brings me back to some May evening at home back in '96, listening to this mix tape I just recorded. It's a Saturday, and I'd be out if sickness hadn't slowed me down.

Perhaps it's a change in my consciousness, or the Parkway view out my window, but it continually feels like May around here, rather than the September it is.

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