Rubbish From The Crypt

Cigarette Butt Egg Shell

If the street I work on has a dominant smell, without a doubt it’s rubbish. Stale, rotten rubbish. A friend of mine pointed it out the other day noting, “It smells like a decomposing body. Like death.” I said I thought that was a bit harsh. I always assumed it was just the delicious stench of broken dreams.

One would think that given what they say about smoke and fire, there would be a rubbish lorry to be found parked nearby, or at least some bin bags. Unfortunately there’s no easy explanation like this for it. It’s not even me, I bathe almost daily.

Now what I’m about to propose may shock you, but before you start thinking about having me sectioned, hear me out: I think it could be ghosts. That’s why it smells like dead people. Think about it.

Loads of people over the centuries have seen as well as heard ghosts, which we all know from having watched television, where they talk about this kinda stuff all the time. Some have even captured these otherworldly entities having a chat on tape, which sounds totally dope when you mix it in under a trippy ambient track. This got me thinking that maybe you could smell ghosts.

According to the Ghosts of Chicago website:

Q) Can I smell a ghost?

A) Our olfactory system is often triggered by our unseen friends. There have been many times when people have noted smelling things when they should not have. Roses seem to be very popular among these smells. The scents that an entity might have been known for when there were alive can commonly be smelled when these ghosts try to indicate their presence: at times, without reason, there may be an odor of perfume, a whiff of a cigar or an aroma of food. As mentioned above, roses are popular; this usually occurs after death, and is always a good message.

Lafone Street may smell like a lot of things, but it certainly doesn’t smell like fucking roses. It smells like rubbish, so obviously this isn’t a good message.

Rather than any being attributable to any physical or even supernatural culprit, I think the odor emanates from the road itself. Deep under the cobbles, something unpleasant from old London bubbles up into the present. Or maybe something unpleasant from the present spills out from another dimension, the hidden parallel world where we keep all our hate, rage and Twix wrappers – the sordid realm of our dirty schemes, our evil inclinations and our melted Kit Kats. Someone probably left the fish out there, too.