It was once funny when you smelled marijuana smoke on the street. Funny, because it was rare.
Scout smelled pot smoke a couple of years ago as we sat in traffic on Roosevelt Road, and thought it was a skunk.
She knows better now. Now she knows she lives in a world full of people smoking dope. The other day we jogged past an apartment building and got a big whiff. At seven a.m.
Because now, in a Chicago summertime, the sweet smell—in the car or on the sidewalk, is at least once-a-day occurrence.
"Dad, did you smell that?"
"Yep," I say, trying to keep from showing that I'm drawing it deep into my nostrils.