On The Road (From Thereby Hangs A Tail)
“Don’t know exactly what game they’re playing, that sheriff and his deputy,” Bernie said, back in the car, zooming out of Nowhereville, “but one thing’s for sure – they stink.”
No doubt about that, but it’s not putting Bernie down – something I would never do! – to say the sense of smell isn’t usually his strength. Bernie was full of surprises. And what was better than this? In the Porsche, on the job, two-lane blacktop stretching as far as I could see, big blue sky above. A little tasty nibble and everything would have been perfect. When had I last eaten? Couldn’t remember. My mind wandered a bit, mostly going over the smells of different foods I liked. Steak, for example, especially with A.1. sauce, burgers, especially bacon burgers, and just plain bacon, too, all by itself. In fact, the smell of just plain bacon sizzling over a flame was one of the most amazing things in life. You may not know this, your sense of smell perhaps more like Bernie’s, but there are two kinds of smells – smells you have to find and smells that find you. Bacon smell finds me, every time. Bernie likes his bacon crisp, but he always takes mine out of the pan first, because I prefer the juicy kind of bacon, with lots of those thick, white fatty parts, so delicious, and to tell the truth totally uncooked bacon wasn’t at all bad either, something I knew from this one time when somehow completely by accident I’d gotten hold of a whole family-size package of gourmet fresh-from-the-farm –
“Chet? You hungry? How does a picnic sound? I could go for a little picnic my – easy, boy.”
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