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I Smell Like A Campfire.

I’ve been forcing my out-of-shape self to take the path of most resistance…the big green stairs that scale the cliff face in our neighborhood. For weeks I’d been skirting around them…favoring a winding, curving path to reach my destination instead. Not now. Obviously the descent, on the walk to work, is a much easier thing. The walk home finds me a little more tired, and defeated, than the walk there. At the end of the day mounting those monstrous stairs seems like a daunting and impractical thing to do. But I’m getting used to it. I’ve even grown used to panting when I reach the top. But not gasping for fresh air. Tonight I smelled burning leaves on my way up. After walking through a thick cloud of smoke at the top I smell like burning leaves. And now I’m in the mood to eat some damned smores. Too bad vegan marshallows are $5 a bag.