Memories: scents of the city

I cannot easily recall a scent but if I smell a scent, a scent of the city, the aroma will open a memory of my youth. I remember on hot Saturdays in Poplar’s Chrisp Street market, the stall selling saveloys and faggots mixed with the smell of the stall selling bananas and the dust of the diesel bouncing off the hot tarmac of the streets and the concrete of the pavements all mixed up with the smell of humanity. Smelling a faggot or saveloy on a hot day brings back what it was to be young, foolish and innocent.

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