Smell of Strawberries

Whether the Glaroon Slipped Up, or not, is probably highly hypothetical.

I mean, here it is – this life, these moments, these thoughts – and does it truly make a difference if it’s stage-managed or not?

Not really, since the stage-manager, the Glaroon, the “they” who would presumably be handling it all are just another aspect of myself.

So have a laugh, have a bit of a marvel if you will and pass right along.

This morning I smelled strawberries on the bus.

Correction – I smelled an aroma which is what perfumiers like to think of as “strawberry”.

There were only 3 other people on the bus: the driver, a middle-aged Indian woman and a youngish Black guy. I was sitting furthest back in the bus as is my wont, and I assumed that one of the other people on the bus had opened something with that strawberry smell; some tobacco, a packet of sweets or a cold drink. Except that eating and drinking is entirely forbidden on the Gautrain Bus, and no-body was doing any of that.

It’s just possible that the smell came into the bus from the outside. Right this moment I feel that’s the most likely answer, as I sniffed the same smell again 10 minutes later as I was walking down West Street.

It’s also possible that my brain is Having a Moment and generating phantom smells. But I doubt that.That particular nasal shade of strawberry is a very human-manufactured one, after all.

My money is on a rogue vaporiser factory somewhere in the Sandton area.

There’s always the paranormal explanation, of course…but let me not go there today.

Maybe Tomorrow.

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