don't call me a bum, jack. I've been here for years

There's nothing quite like the smell of sex.

Memory works in a strange, fantastic way, and I do believe it's what sets us apart from other living creatures. Each of our senses connect to form the overall cohesive experience that is existence. Our eyes take in the room, the people and object within it, our nostrils take in the various scents, our skin feels the texture of our clothes, the ground, the chair we sit in, the surfaces our fingers glide and grip, our tongue tastes saliva and phlegm and the battery of sensations we have found and created to appease its constant appetite, and it all happens simultaneously, without effort or action, each piston is pumping to full power, driving the machine to perform to perfection. And that simultaneity makes for some amazing connections that last throughout the experience, from diving into the sadness that hit during Elton John's Levon every time the song comes on to your mind and voice rising to the sky like it did the day you walked through the fountain in the park and felt the cool water soak through your clothes to your burning skin.

So there's nothing like the smell of sex, reminding you of what you're missing.