Featured Story

Moreland liked to walk the streets because he could inhale the smells of foods leaking from the restaurants as he passed: fried, spicy, grilled, sweet, steamed, broiled, baked, and fresh. Glasses tinkled and silverware clinked, voices carried through the windows and doors. The smells were better during the warmer months, when the windows were open, and best if there tables on the sidewalk, where the senses were free to sense with less impediment. The smells were stronger, the noises were louder, the experiences were more vibrant and thrilling. When temperatures were lower, the sounds and smells were subdued, with little bursts when a crowd entered or a couple exited. He didn't mind waiting for a whiff because the payoff was more meaningful.

Moreland liked to walk despite his advancing years because he could unwind, let his mind wander, and remember the life he had lived. His wife had been the adventurous type in the kitchen, and used to make dinner he had no idea existed until she placed the plate before him. He missed his wife.

He walked quickly, faster than seemed possible on his stubby legs. A little sweat glistened on his forehead and cheeks when he kept the pace for more than a few blocks, but his breathing was never heavy or labored. Through his nose he drew deep breaths so that he could taste the flavors inside the intense odors, though he longed to place the foods on his tongue, where they would dissolve and melt.