You could softly smell him: it was soap or lotion or shampoo, it came somewhere from his hair, his body, his skin. It was cedar, sandalwood, as if he had just walked through a forest of citrus. There was smokiness to the scent as well, ashy, a simmering bonfire on a deserted beach, the salt air mingling with the evaporating flames. Or this is how I remember it.
