• Dr. Teresa Van Woy

Good in the world...

I smiled. I knew what he had. He kept a white plastic bucket of roses by his feet. He’d hand one to all the pretty ladies to make them blush, but sometimes, I got one, too. His car always had the sweet fragrance of fresh cut flowers mixed with the pungent aroma of cable car grease and the smell of burning pine from the brakes. I could go on blindfolded and know it was his car by the scent alone. That’s a smell you could only find in San Francisco.



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