Smells.

Damn. Here I am on my knees holding my guts in with my hands, and all I can think about is how this city smells.

'Shit!'� Paulie grabbed my shoulder and I winced, but that didn't matter anymore. 'Goddamn, Sollie'�hold on brother; meatwagon's comin'!'�

Meatwagon. Makes me think of the wonderful aroma of Ballparks roasting at Tony's Texas Hots, one the few hotdog vendors still brave enough to work the streets all hours of the day and night. I'll miss the aroma of the onions he roasts on the side; the slaw, that bitter/tangy scent of his secret-recipe relish; miss it badly, damn it.

'All units; please respond,'� rang the canned voice of the squad car CB, 'we have an officer down'�.'�

Something shifted under my hands, puffing out the unpleasant, coppery scent of blood and the acrid smell of burnt flesh, along with something rotten; like spoiled meat left in the sun. It reminded me of times over the years when Paul and I found dead bodies dumped at the city landfill.

The pressure on my shoulder increased, probably because Paulie was about to pass the hell out, right next to me. 'God; they're comin' Sollie; hold on..'�

My nostrils quivered and my arms trembled like limp strands of spaghetti; it wouldn't be long now before I took my last nose dive, literally.

Believe it or not I've always loved the smell of city traffic; gasoline and exhaust mixed with just the right spotting of burning oil; because it always reminded me of the car races dad and I always used to go see. I didn't grow up in the city but out in the suburbs, and dad was a racing nut. Though we never made it to a NASCAR race, every Saturday my whole childhood we headed out to Five Mile Point, a little dirt race track out in the country. Gasoline, exhaust, oil always took me back, and I think I love the smell more than those Texas Red Hots.

I caught a whiff of myself and almost threw-up; my body was covered in sour, fear-smelling sweat, and I smelled something intimately familiar ' that burnt ozone stench of a spent firearm; hot, steel, sharp in my nostrils.

Something gurgled and splooshed under my hand, and I knew that gush was pretty much my last hurrah. Somehow as I sagged to the ground, I forced myself to flop over on my back, so at least my guts would stay where they belonged and Paulie's last sight of me wouldn't include my intestines pooling around his feet.

I sighed and relaxed against the pavement; my eyes closed and as the world went dark, I was happy to be on my back, guts still inside me, when I caught a whiff of one last smell.

Rain. Clean, crisp; falling slowly at first ' drops, sprinkles, drizzles ' increasing steadily. The smell was pure, fresh, and thank God'�.my last.

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