Word: smell
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Ralph Fiennes, head nearly shaved, thin frame draped in mud-brown haberdashery, stands in an implied graveyard and works his mouth into a sour scowl as he says he doesn't mind the smell of corpses. "A trifle on the sweet side perhaps, a trifle heady, but how infinitely preferable to what the living emit, their feet, teeth, armpits, arses, sticky foreskins and frustrated ovules." Fiennes enumerates these body parts with slow precision, and in a tone of crescendoing disgust. It might be a litany of curses, a bill of criminal charges brought against a species about to be condemned...
...beings: a splintered femur amid rubber boots; a broken skull, barely distinguishable from the smooth white stones surrounding it; a jawbone still holding nine teeth. The patch to the north held its own evidence of atrocity: a torn, stained bandage; a split limb still bearing flesh; the rich, sweet smell of human decay...
...hodgepodge change of 1.7 million registrations in about half the states may not sound significant in a nation that could see 110 million people vote in November, but it is, in fact, something that looks potentially seismic. A close look at Cook's data explains why some Democrats smell realignment this fall. In the core Democratic states, as you might expect, registration among Democrats is booming. California has enrolled 300,000 new Democrats and only 15,000 new Republicans since the spring. But, while that shift could have an impact in congressional races, it won't change that state...
...Well, you know, years six and seven of a two-term Administration, people always say that, because the curdling gets so bad you can smell it from a mile away. And that draws even the comedians who normally just talk about TV commercials and airlines into the fray. I mean, it was true at this point with the Reagan Administration. It was true at this point with the Clinton Administration. It just seems to be a pattern. We get tired of them even in the best Administrations long before the second term is over. Something bad starts to happen...
...nothing beats the rot. One morning in August I couldn't drag her anymore. She buried herself right there on the beach. Broke up under her own weight. The sand really did close up over her. I found the mound it made years later and dug. You could still smell the wet wood in the discolored sand underneath. But there was no boat there any more. Reduced to tiny particles. It's what happens to man-made things, around salty water...