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Hay and Ink
When I arrive home from the newspaper office, my wife Sharon occasionally tells me that I smell like ink.
This is not a bad thing. It's just a fact resulting from my close proximity to the giant press that cranks out tens of thousands of newspapers each week. About five thousand of those weekly newspapers are copies of the Chiefland Citizen.
The fragrance of ink permeates the building where I work and it follows me home every now and then. This odor serves as a reminder from being part of the local press corps.
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