I yearn to smell black truffles at Lusardi’s on the Upper East Side that always reminded me of the pungent scent of wet earth and sex. The comforting musty smell of old used books at the Strand, and the smell of wet dog and traces of skunky marijuana swirling past me at Tompkins Square Park that kept me grounded. I’ve tried to make a list of some of my favorite scents before they fade from my memory. But every day, I find new things that I’ll miss.
— Read more in Covid Stole My Sense of Smell. The City’s Not the Same. at The New York Times.