The other day I was making a roundabout around my office. I’ll walk a big loop, go to the bathroom, and return, just to freshen up and get the blood moving through my stagnant trunks. During this stroll, I got a whiff of something. It was something I hadn’t smelled since I was twenty years old. The coagulation of damp cardboard, half empty light beers, tables with swamps in the center of them, grass muddied with chunks, low end vodka chiefly consumed by only alcoholics and 17 year olds staining the floors. The smell wasn’t even really there. My brain just remembered the smell, and I thought I smelled this smell, so I did smell the smell, and ugh, did it smell.
Pro Football Focus Ranks The Houston Texans’ 2017 Offensive Line
