Scent

Nose pressed to flesh, I smell my skin for any hint of fish. Trout? Salmon? Nothing touches the olfactory glands that hints at water living brethren with fins and tails. My dream reports otherwise. In it, I visit my former place of employment and bump into the director. She wants to know why I am there. To see old friends I say and ask if I can have back my old job. No, she says, that's impossible because you smell like a fish. Eyes open. At home, in my bedroom. The red tulip walls barely discernible in the early morning light. Fish and chips sounds good for lunch.