Strapped for time and in search for a small suitcase, I grabbed my late grandmother's suitcase and shoved my belongings in before running out the door to Syracuse and Boston, barely noticing the pungant mothball smell wafting from the suitcase. My late grandmother's suitcase reeks of mothballs. My clothes, which have been in the suitcase for several days, reek of mothballs. I'm surprised I haven't gotten any puzzling looks yet as I've walked the streets of Boston. I'm not looking forward to the train ride home.
My New Scent
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