“Spring has finally come and the air has that fresh, muddy smell from rain earlier today. I think the sun should never set before eight p.m. There should be a rule. “Petrichor,” Charles says, walking beside me, his hands in his pockets and his satchel over his shoulder. The word for that smell you’ve been inhaling as if it’ll get you high. It’s called petrichor. The stones release oils when they get wet, and that’s what the smell is.”
Book:How Not To Fall