It dissipates; the stench is now only a hint. The memory is strong though, intrusive, giggle inducing at its best.
After the bomb, but before the air clears, I can not breathe.
He looks at me, innocent and lighted in curiosity.
He wrinkles his nose not because I do.
No, not at all. He objects to being ridiculed, attached to a chain, and told between choking gasping laughter.
“Stay outside until you’re done. And dog… no more cheese for you.”
By J K Brennan