I indulge in the smell of my finger tips. Lead from a pencil, coffee, buttons from elevators, onions, my own crotch, keyboards, cinnamon... The traces of everything I have come in contact with throughout the day remains. I carry the existence of my experience with me. Small particules of where I have been and what I have touched cling to my physical being, my body. Only to be washed down the drain in the shower the next morning. Not a trace left... We never remember such little details.
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