Ahh, home early on a glorious fall day. And maybe even with enough time, and daylight, to get nine holes in. I was thinking all this and envisioning long, straight tee shots as I pulled into the driveway.
I let myself in and made a beeline for the fridge. There was just enough time for a little snack before changing. I opened the door and went to reach for a yogurt, one of those ridiculously expensive but good for you brands, when I stopped short. There were no yogurts. But there had to be. There were three in the fridge this morning.
The odor came floating into my office like a fog. It was rancid, putrid, like something was decomposing. Decomposing and now burning.