I decided to leave my familiar writing nook and 'open the door' (as Stephen King would say) for my rewrite and found myself three blocks away at the closest depot for over-roasted coffee beans; I think the place shares the name of a Melville character. The hipster barn had let most of the breeding stock out to pasture when I ventured in, leaving almost every (s)table unoccupied. Like most people in the area I live in, the two ladies that distracted me had no spacial awareness and set there reusable grocery bags laded with only organic foodstuffs on my table instead of the seventeen other available spaces. It was not their multi-texted, verbally relayed conversation that distracted me, but their odoriferous aura. I wrote this down in my spiral: What do these women standing next to me smell like? At first, I thought it might be patchouli, but it was missing the pungency. She (the fatter one) smelled like the dark dirt I associate with red oaks. The dark, nearly black soil saturated with the smell of decaying detritus, but dry; not like the semi-hydric soil of the white oak cousin. I can smell the nursery and the potting soil. The other lady (shaped like the apple from Fruit-of-the-loom) occasionally wafts a rosy, floral, soapy scent my way. I thought it would be fun to start a thread of the little things that distract us enough to jot them down.