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July 3, 2004
The window is open only about six inches, but that's more than enough to allow the almost obscenely mouth-watering aroma of something fried to waft up from somewhere below, through the screen, and across the room to where I sit. The smell reminds me of Kentucky Fried Chicken, which I have not had since 1987. I have not had any chicken in 14 years, but right now I can't help but fantasize about steaming bucketsful of just the skin, removed from the flesh and bone, in two varieties – extra-crispy and original -- and making a mess of my fingers and lips.