Sense Memory And Nostalgia

Across the carpark from my house is a McDonald's. The industrial-strength fans from the kitchen, carefully hidden from street-view, have been perfectly positioned to blast the scent of warm grease into my bathroom.
From now until forever the smell of hash browns will convince me that it's time to brush my teeth.

Despite the convenience of its location I've only bought food there twice.
Once after I'd just moved in and hadn't even progressed to the stage where I could proudly heat myself a supermarket-bought pizza.
Once after a drunken night with a friend.
Either my tastebuds are growing more refined or the taste is actually getting worse.

"Research is in, boys. They're going to keep buying the swill regardless. Might as well relax the standards, ey?"

On the corner which the building has claimed, used to stand the 'Mayor's House', an historic monument, a piece of our raw and youthful history. Presumably it was heritage-listed, or close enough, like the second-hand bookstore across the road which is up for auction.
The sweet little brick building is carefully regulated, the fittings can only be painted certain approved colours. Any alterations, repairs or touch-ups need to be cleared, ratified and sanctioned before any steps are taken.
I hope the bookstore-lady can top the bids. I have laughed, browsed and splurged there, chatting until well after close whilst her daughter frowned and puzzled over a primary school assignment in the other room.

It is business district zoned so either way it must remain a shop. It, at least, is safe from the golden arches. On the wrong side of the street, away from the busy intersection and in no way as suitable a location for the 'drive-thru'.

With enough money you can buy enough time to make it too late. Once something is gone, it's gone. I knew there was a reason I was scared of clowns.

We can't rebuild the Mayor's House, the old wooden timbers have been disassembled, broken down and carted away. It will be much easier to rebuild the faceless/soulless McDonald's building, if they so choose, but it'll be a pain in their arse, a thorn in their side.

And as the waves of heat wash through my bathroom window, carrying the smell of melting plastic and boiling grease, I am overwhelmed by the feeling that it is time to brush my teeth.