by Kenneth B., 13
Spiced scents straight from India.
That’s what most people think, but it’s a whole new Febreze can.
It came straight out of Pit 4,
A place that has bright stories wrapped in a thick broth, overshadowed by all of the pros.
Where old ladies sit in their rotting rocking chairs, trying to teach life lessons to their grandsons, who are distracted by the chickens running around her farm, thinking about adding it into his local gumbo.
Where the grumpy man that shouts at his son because he went to sell guinep to get himself new shoes instead of going to school to get an education, wishes he could make his own curry pot pie.
The angsty teenager under the mango tree with her friends, filing her nails in the rain, waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up and take her out to dinner because she thought she was nothing but a mistake and decided to run away from her problems instead of facing them, not worrying about her tears that disappeared into the murky water on the road and always turning to the woman down the street that cooked the swamp jambalaya.
That woman lived down the street, and was kind to her husband, kids, and everyone else in their small world. It was there where she made her famous soup, thick and steamy, like the bread that came with it.
It wasn’t long until she passed and gave her recipe for the happiness in a cauldron to the small girl, who only noticed her voice and kindness and took her into consideration once.
The girl treated the recipe with the utmost respect, having the same people walk in the door, tempted by the same scent.
The girl became a woman and soon passed away, giving it to a woman of many colors. She came back to her home, tired of the tropical lifestyle. She came back to work with the perfection in a jar and put it in a fridge.
A boy then came and thought the strange sauce was a weird diet drink. So, he heated it up, taking a young woman’s advice that it wasn’t something that disgusts, but a delicacy that enticed the mind. So he ate it, and completely understood life’s answer. The spices flowed through his body, giving him the taste of his roots and home at heart.
Bridge Ink 