Something sorta musty.
Something dark.
Something in the carpet.
My first share house was on Wilson Street, near here. The common space was small and crowded with musical instruments, including a piano. The piano smell was woody and resonant. A deep, weighty smell. The terrace had low ceilings, I lived in the best room. The smell of fresh bread from Carriageworks markets and concrete. We used to go onto the roof to study. It smelled like hot metal and text books in the sun: ink, text book paper that’s a little bit shiny, plasticy.


wood, dust, old carpet, sunshine, bread, mustiness, text books


Hannah Stenstrom