Member-only story
[haibun] Sucking In Air — You May Enjoy the Aroma, Too!
The stink and grit of the Fisherman’s Wharf seems to permeate every page of John Steinbeck’s writing.
Sweets and I pull over at the spot on Highway 1 where John Steinbeck stood one day atop a dune to catch Monterey Bay naked.
Both Lovers Point and Pleasure Point hug the bay.
The Fisherman’s Wharf pierces the body of water, creaming with sails, flags, and cafés. Fishing boats dock at the barnacled pier, unloading fresh catch, and adding to what Steinbeck called “stink.”
wharf café
cappuccino plus
bath salts
“This is it,” I tell Sweets. “Feels like home.”
“A hole,” she says, clutching the wheel.
I roll down the windows. The breeze blows her hair over the seats, filling the car. It is as if the car sucked the bay in and blew it out ridding itself of our spritzes, deos and baby puffs mixed with squeals, moans, and sighs.
“Do you know what the smell makes me think of?” I mouth into Sweets’ hair.
“Something rotten.”
I suck in a deep breath.
Whiff of lovemaking.
spray windswept
