All houses have a distinct smell. So easily recognizable. When I borrow a friends sweater, I always appreciate how it smells just like them. Is it a bad smell? they ask. It's not good or bad or describable in any way, just you.
The only time I can smell my house's scent, and it's only for a second, is when I come back from a long trip. As I shuffle through the door dazed from the long car ride, my mind registers the faint scent of the house, usually so familiar it is unrecognizable. But for this moment my brain can register the smell and guess at what is is made up of. Lingering smoke from a fire, baked goods, and stone.
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