From the river to the sea

the smell of decay

Lyad takes a big breath in, and exhales slowly. The warmth of the air he breathes out collides with the cold air from outside and creates a thick cloud of smoke that quickly disintegrates in the night. He wishes he had taken a coat with him; it is cold outside, and he is shivering like a leave in the wind.

— I hate that smell.

— Me too.

— Fire, dust and burnt meat, Lyad says as his nose crinkles.

— You remember the purple irises?

— Yes, such beautiful flowers. In spring I always pick some up for my mother, she puts them in a vase under the kitchen's window.

— They smell so good too.

— I don't remember that part.

— I can't blame you, Hanan nods.

— It doesn't matter, I'm more of a poppy guy anyway.