Thanksgiving Dinner a Week and a Half Early

I don't know why I feel it necessary to capitalize every important word in these titles.

I was walking back from the rot's Quasi-Thanksgiving Dinner tonight, and caught a whiff of something amazing on the sidewalk. It was the smell of fried food, lights and pavement. Normally that smell would mean: boardwalk. But today, maybe it was the way the wind caught it and pushed it around. It smelled like Maine. Stopped me dead in my tracks. Something powerful came over me. I could've died. Not really. But there had to be a climax to those sentences. But, OH how I wanted to be back in Maine. OH I miss you fishing off the dock. OH I long for you, lobster stew, OH I desire you, Cap'n Fish's Motel. OH man.

Sometimes when I walk up the hill to my dorm, my being out of shape forces me to inhale deeply, which forces me to take in the scents. Not to mention my nostrils being the size of two snow shoes. That helps too. But sometimes, I don't know what it is, the gravel or the wafting breeze from construction sites far away, but I smell Maine. It smells like granite and seaweed. Which is the smell of Maine. Or at least where I go.

Oh, wow. I could use another vacation. Couldn't we all?
And to all a good night.