It was odd, of course, that Colby should be sitting there. Not odd to be sitting, naturally, but the fact that she was sitting beside the overflowing sewer.
Most passers-by had a hankerchief held over their noses and mouth, but Colby breathed in deeply.
After a considerable amounts of time, when the sun was disappearing, and the city becoming dangerous, she collected her purse and overcoat and sauntered into a warm bakery.
“Fresh pies! Hot out the oven! Don’t they smell nice?” The baker cried cheerfully, hoping to entice her to buy one.
Colby smiled shyly.
“I don’t know; I can’t smell anything.”
“What? Can’t smell those lovely pies?” He frowned.
“Oh, no! Don’t take offense! The only thing I can smell is the sewer. Always have. Always will.”