Smells a city

Ryn liked riding beside Ms. Cross. She could focus on the faint aroma of rose-water perfume that Ms. Cross wore so often and lightly that it might have become her natural scent, and it drew Ryn’s attention from the oily layers of stink that plastered the inside of the cramped train car. It was the smell of city people, of gnawing worry, the kind that applied constant pressure. It pushed a person into a perpetually frayed state, where they proceeded fugue-like and unaware that their credit cards, overdue bills, and inboxes had settled into their shoulders and bent their gait. They lived like a man forced to walk, never stopping, until he died.


Chapter 3, Page 30-31