The smell of here is dusty: stale and bitter like green tea. It smells of paper. People mistake vanilla as being plain, but vanilla doesn't taste plain -- it tastes like vanilla, which is a wonderful flavor. If paper was an ice cream flavor, it would be vanilla. The smell of paper is nondescript, but it slices through the air with confidence and character, like paper is thinking: "If I'm going to be nondescript, I'm going to OWN nondescript." This place is so full of the smell of paper that you don't notice it after the initial jolt of the olfactories; it settles into your nose until you imagine it's always been there.
Right here, in the basement, there is a large ceiling light that buzzes horrendously loud. The problem with buzzing is that it is unlike humming or thrumming, which are contiguous sounds. The onomatopoeia of a hum would be something like: "Hmmmmmmmmm." Buzzing is not contiguous; it's a series of extremely short sounds that occur after each other so quickly that they almost seem to be a contiguous whole ... but where a hum is soothing, a buzz is grating. The onomatopoeia of a buzz is: "Zzzzzzzzz" or "Tststststststststststs." Like the way a fly's wings are actually flapping in tiny, super-fast movements, a buzz consists of tiny, super-fact sounds. Something about this makes the sound irritating, so I wish someone would fix that ceiling light.
Fortune cookies taste of orange. Interesting that the descriptor "citrus" is such a powerful one. It has a sharp, tangy smell and taste that is universally recognizable no matter the fruit or food you find it in.
It's easy to generate a lot of static electricity in the basement, and all the bookshelves are metal. Getting a shock is like experiencing a tiny explosion or impact. Meanwhile, when you ground yourself, discharge the static at a wall -- there isn't a shock, but a feeling of fuzziness, like touching a blanket.
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