Prompt: A child adopted by a drug dealer, and the drug dealer actually uses a kebab shop as a front company for selling drugs.
Some complained that the shop smelled terrible. Others said it was wonderful to wake up to. Both groups stopped vocalizing their opinions about one week after the kebab shop moved in. That was the way of its smells, its private recipes. They quickly became part of the air, a warmth in it rather than a scent, and nobody who lived there even remembered it had ever been a point of argument. Their neighborhood smelled of it, and only visitors cared. Continue reading
