Lost Smells of History
She slept like a rat, nose twitching. In dreams, she followed flights of institutional stairs to the stifling offices of Byzantine historians who argued for a radical archaeology of the senses. A few nips of whiskey, hours of talk nestled into cracked leather armchairs. They wept over the horrors of modernity: Smog, petrol, car exhaust, plug-in freshners. The air in their nostrils was not that of...