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What is this bottled nostalgia? Carlos del Puente Stories - Carlos del Puente

What is this bottled nostalgia? Carlos del Puente Stories

sábado, mayo 10, 2025

 What is this bottled nostalgia?

The old and dusty road spread ahead, a black tape that vanished that cut the monotonous landscape of the corn fields. The sun hung up, throwing a hard and inflexible light that made every shadow tremble. An old truck, its engine that gasped as an asthmatic dragon, rose through the asphalt, leaving a trace of exhaust gases that seemed to dance and mix with dust on a silent ballet.

Inside, a young man named Liothan narrowed his eyes on the horizon, his hand turning the dial of his car's radio. Only Static replied, a relentless whistle that reflected the white noise of his thoughts. His eyes fluttered to the gas meter, the needle that quoted just above the "E" knew that he would have to stop soon.

As if it were in Cue, a lonely service station appeared, a lonely sentry in the Gold and Green Sea. The faded sign on the bombs said "Scentscape", a name that brought a slight smile to his lips. I had heard of such places before, but I had never seen one for herself. They were like myths on the road, promising a capricious escape from the mundane.

With a sigh of relief, Liothan got into the station. The suppliers stopped for a moment, silent witnesses of their arrival. He went to heat, the plants of his shoes attached to the sticky asphalt. The air was full of gasoline aroma, a smell that normally caused its nose to wrinkle, but today it seemed like a sweet symphony compared to the lifeless vacuum of the road.

Upon entering the station, it was received by the bell attached to the door. The interior was a time capsule of the 80s, with shelves lined with dusty trinkets and a wall of fries that had probably been there since the Berlin wall fell. An old man looked up from behind the counter, his eyes shone curious.

"The first time here, right?" He said, his serious voice as the path he had just traveling.

Liothan nodded, nodding in the colored kaleidoscope that were the perfume and colony bottles. "What is this 'bottled nostalgia'?" He asked, pointing a peculiar bottle.

The old man's smile grew, revealing a set of teeth stained by a lifetime of coffee. "Ah, that is our specialty. Strike a little of that, and it will take you back to a moment you miss. How to enter a photograph, if you want."

His interest aroused, Liothan collected a bottle, reading the label. He promised a smell of summers of our childhood, of freedom and joy, captured in a small glass bottle. The price was expensive, but it was attracted to the idea of ​​a fleeting escape of the present.

For a moment, it was transported to a world of simplicity, the aroma of freshly cut grass, the heat of the sun in its skin. It was a memory that had not realized that it was lost so deeply. But as fast as it had arrived, the fragrance vanished, leaving it with an empty bottle and a sadly heavy heart.

The old man laughed, looking at his reaction. "It's something powerful, right?"

Liothan nodded, a melancholic expression on his face. He took the bottle and filled his gas tank, his mind accelerating with the idea of ​​what other emotions could find bottled in this peculiar place.

While paying, the man slipped another bottle towards her. "At home," he said, his eyes are kind. "It's something for the road. It's called 'Invisible Hope'. In case you need it."

Without a word, he took it, sliding it in his pocket. He felt great against his skin, a silent promise of better days ahead.

By Carlos del Puente relatos 

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