The studio smells of copydex. It’s a smell of childhood. I never liked the stuff, and its stink repelled me. Though it was mostly the way its rubbery texture clung to everything, paper, clothes, hair and fingers. Why this particular smell has commandeered my working space, I don’t know. Is it the wind bringing it in through the gaps in the wall and sill? Or is it emanating through the floor, from the new owner downstairs or perhaps from the flat opposite? Who knows. I hope it passes soon.
