WHAT YOU'VE BEEN BREATHING
Your room smells clean. Suspiciously clean. It smells of a meadow.
Not a real meadow. A meadow that has never existed, plugged into the wall by the skirting board, reheating the same synthetic spring every ninety minutes whether anyone asked or not. It is called something like Alpine Whisper. It is whispering. It has been whispering for eleven months. Nobody has told it to stop.
Somewhere under all that manufactured springtime, the room has forgotten what actual ground smells like. So has your nose. That is the thing we are here to fix. Not you. The room.
Alpine Whisper says this is all very unfair and would like another ninety minutes.
