Thursday, May 3, 2012

The smell of sulfur reminds me of tropical countries and cheap seaside hotels at the end of a gravel road. For ten dollars you get your own bungalow with a hammock on the porch and a bed suspended by chains from the ceiling. A warm breeze. A cold drink. Something fresh caught from the sea and fried up in the hotel kitchen. The sound of the surf and that smell. Is it sewage? Is it something ancient, petrochemical and geological that farts up through the sand? Even though either option sounds like a big bad turnoff, a real vacation dealbreaker, I’ve never seen it that way. To me it's just part of the fun.

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