I walked to work this morning, a long stroll through the lifting fog. It’s been a hazy week of rain. The moment I left my apartment and shut the door behind me, I could smell burnt toast and musty rug. Outside, I smelled the lingering rain on the sidewalk, a whiff of the Dove conditioner in my hair. As I walked, there was a hint of earth and dead, early-autumn leaves. A hot metal twang to the subway car rumbling by. I could smell the flowery perfume of a woman on her way to work, the coffee from a café with an open door, and the familiar wet scent of a dog who had just rolled around in the grass. I fly to London tomorrow. I wonder what smells that will bring.