Magic Smells.

Distinct sent, rich and rightious stained the air. Thing was Marley couldn't smell a thing. Whatever nerve it was Doctor's called it, connected brain and nose, wasn't there. Nada. Not that was Marley's concern, his main concern was the source of that sent. Bottled Sunshine,slung in his messenger bag. Weaving through the packed street.

On N. Baker, what he needed was to catch the 5:40, catch that he'd get up to SoHo.

Bottled Sunshine, not what you think, as illegal as any other drug, but nothing like any substance. Magic. Not a euphenism. Actual magic. Purest constrate. It was a science to use, sprinkle the right dose, know how to maniuplate and practice. Anyone could do it. Not that Marley knew anything about that. He was just the courier, got it from point a to b. Didn't get caught, paid well, he was good at it.

Suppose everyone thinks that, untill they get caught.

Marley never made it to SoHo, that run ended him up in Garrison Peneterary. Apparently you lessons the hard way, that day, Marley learned that magic smells. Bad. Passing a pair of cops, prudent scent had grabbed their attention long enough, to break away from their hotdogs, following the teenager.

No one in Garrison is there for a bit of R & r, it's a long time, all but a concept, perception. Hours pass into days, dulled by routinue, days blur into weeks which are blurred into months, so on. Till Marley found a stranger, eyes level with his, staring straight through the cracked mirror. Features heavied by the weight of wrinkles. He was the Old Guy, who ate alone, sat by the edge of the table.

Eyes glued to that grainy television, as he watched the world go by, through that parascoped window of the television set.

"There was another bust on a Con House today in Midtown," the news women read off montonley. Just like day before and, before that. Same story, different place. Con didn't mean the same anymore. Not convicted, those about to be, Conjurers. From his narrowed view, it seemed that the law didn't crack down anymore on the usual suspects. Drugs, murder, etc. Magic, the prime colpurt. Watching, as herds of Cons were rounded into the prison. Boys just as he once was, filed in on the daily.

Drawing to the end of that day, no certain date nor year, just a blurred state of time, in a diluted state of existence. Storm was brewing, rattling against the inmates. There was usual tension between gangs of course, that kept order. Marley hadn't seen it like this before.

The newly arrived Cons. Little scuffle was exploded to a full out riot. Full out. Fist slammed against each other, bones cracked under the weight. As blood stained the tile.

Either it was wisdom or cowardice. Marley had seen enough to know not to get involved. Victim of circumstance, he could blame that again. Yet, he was met with his fate.

Shive pierced through him, as the collpurt dashed on by. It was sudden and, there was shock. Yet, there was no terror to follow. Sweet release. Locked up for so long, what ever kept him going, drained with the flow of blood. Freedom was meeting him in his destiny.

He waited. Waited. That drain of blood elveated. Feeling, pure and exact. He was empty or draining, he was filling. Watching. before his eyes, it was white pure as pixie dust. As it grew.

Eventually order was made, as the justice took control. Marley just laid there, as he watched the world once again go by.

Just as he laid there, a fellow inmate passed by; "Dude you stink!" He announced.

That was true. Magic smells. It was in Marley all along.