11

"I used to like to put up my nose in the sky so I could smell the sun."

Astrid put up her nose in the air, but all she could probably smell was alcohol and bathroom cleaners.

"How does it smell like?" I asked.

"Most of the time it smells like burning earth, so you know, it's not very fragrant. It's like the opposite of petrichor—"

"What the fuck is a petrichor?"

"It's the smell of wet earth. You know, after it rains."

"Oh."

"So, yeah. The sun smells like petrichor, but the burnt version of it, you know what I mean?" she said. "I like smelling it, though. I don't know why."

"You're not smelling the sun. You're smelling the earth burnt by the sun, the same way you don't smell the rain, but the wet earth caused by the rain."

"You're a nerd."

"You're stupid."

"I stopped liking its smell because it reminds me of . . ." She then trailed off.

"Reminds you of what?"

"I was so happy before that afternoon."

"What happened?"

"Have you tried smelling the moon?" she asked out of nowhere. "I doubt it smells like anything. It's just a rock. The moon isn't anything special. Even its light isn't from itself. What a loser."

"You're so drunk."

She giggled. "Good."

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