To throw this out there, for those who may actually being following my train of thought within these posts, this realization was sparked by the same event I wrote about on Friday.
Driving through urban streets, there can be a myriad of scents seeping through the window. One in particular crawls through and I notice it immediately, remembering it fondly. My mind goes to the days of my childhood, running around with the toy guns making their little cracks. Laughing and running through the twists and curves of white suburbia. My smile sours when the realization strikes me, as it always does on this occasion, that we played in the wisps of gunpowder. Down these streets there are no children playing. There are no laughs of joy. There are still shrieks of surprise. Down these streets only tears fall at this aroma.