… strawberry shortcake. Or chocolate mint.
I’ve been biking to work. The distance is a measly two miles, so not really a great workout, but not only am I twice as fast as if I were taking the T, I also enjoy pleasant scents along the way. Right outside my door I cycle past a candy factory. I still don’t know what product is made there, but it spreads a wonderful and irresistible aroma of chocolate mint and strawberry shortcake. Please don’t tell me what they make, I’m pretty sure I’d rather live in ignorant bliss on this one.
On the other side of the river I ride down Charles Street and then cross the Boston Common, where the smell of freshly cut grass reminds even the busiest of us that it is in fact summer.
I know I have a pretty good commute by any standard, but who else can claim that their commute smells good as well?!
This is very worrying. A more detailed examination of your commute shows it doesn’t go past a candy factory, a river, or anywhere that grass might grow.
Instead it passes the horse rendering plant, the fishglue factory, the sewage farm, republican party HQ, the Massachusetts used jockstrap repository (they’re stockpiling them in case there’s a war), and the east coast’s largest and most flatulent pigfarm.
So either you have an unduly sunny disposition or an unfortunately large tumor somewhere.