Nothing beats walking around Boston on a crisp October day. All the streets smell like gasoline and food. I blame the latter on the fact that I am relatively close to the ballpark, but even from miles away, the smell of meat lingers in the air.

Boston is like a grandma, something is always on the stove ready to serve for company, even if she's not expecting anybody. I would kill for some of that food right now, but I wasn't invited to dinner.

I take a minute and pause right next to Fenway Park. The smell of cooking meats accompanied by onions always gets me. No matter what the circumstance, I have to just stop and take it all in. The cheers from the crowd remind me I need to keep going. Soon the game will let up and I'll be stuck in the middle of far too many drunk, bitter Red Sox fans.

Crossing the street in this town is a very tricky business but I have lived here long enough to know once that light turns red you have to wait a few more seconds before crossing because someone will always run right through it. This time it's a 2003 Neon, bright red.

The smell of dinner is gradually replaced by dessert in the form of hot cookies coming out of the oven. Sometimes when I'm bored I close my eyes and pretend I'm blind. I can get to everywhere just by the changing smells. Between that and the occasional burst of heat from the subway tunnels I will never get lost.

Closing my eyes for just a second, I try to picture what my grandmother might look like as she takes cookies out of her oven and pours me a huge glass of milk to accompany them. Today it's Chocolate Chip Macadamia Nut, so warm and gooey they break apart in my white milk turning it to chocolate.

'Get out of the way!'�

I open my eyes just in time to get shoved. I fall to my knees and for a second smell the slightest hint of vomit on the ground. Apparently he has somewhere more important to be than I do.

When I turn the corner I smell her. Her hair tattered and her clothes dirty, just like mine. I don't really know this woman but yet, she's my mother for now. The smell of rancid garbage hits my nostrils as I get closer to her. 'I saved you some,'� She says holding up a half eaten donut she pulled from the dumpster which is serving as our shelter for the night.

I grab it in my hands and scarf it down, trying to keep myself from gagging. 'Thanks.'� I say when I'm done.

Right before I curl under my old sweater for the night, I am overcome with the smell of urine mixed with beer and in that moment I know that I am home.

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