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Wandering the street.
Step up the stairs into the building and go up to the shelves with silver and various colored bags.
Pick up the big silver one,
Push the bag in and take in the sweet aroma.
It wafts around me taking me back into time, the time when I went to the Mandarin on Sundays and other special days;
The time when we wandered the street with purpose into that shop where the coffee lined the walls;
The time when the aroma wafted around me and enveloped me bringing me back to the present.
The present where I sit on the faded floral patterned couch in the living room by myself,
where I listen to music that fills my mind and encourages me to write.
To write for some reason and for no reason at all.
To write just to write,
to let my mind travel back and forth in time.
To that time, to remember the aroma wafting to my nose,
that aroma that I can no longer remember,
but can imagine it lingering, filling the space around me.