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Tar

They’d finished re-surfacing North Parade by time I went for my walk. The hot stink of tar filled the air. I love the smell. It’s like petrol or rubber, faintly industrial, rich, cloying but somehow comforting. Big hulking men in high vis suits were collecting all the road signs and cones and slinging them into their open-topped vans. I walked a little behind one of them, marvelling at the expanse of his shoulders.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.