Walking home from the town library around 4pm, I passed the row of generic Asian restaurants with the Chinese/Japanese/Korean tri-fold menus. A strong smell of grilled fish wafted through the thick pre-storm air and coated the sidewalk. Pedestrians wrinkled their noses and arched their eyebrows. It may sound yummy, but the potency was oppressive, stifling, overwhelming.
Or, as one teenaged girl said to another:
“Um, it smells like epic fish.”
