Schiphol – Zwolle
I sniff him – suspicious! He’s next to me, waiting for the train to stop moving. Only a few more seconds, then he’ll be gone. I scour him for details. Are his shoes dirty? Or his fingernails? A large yellow suitcase with the letters AMS, but no clues as to where he flew from. I breathe in again, unmistakeably smoke. Fresh, I’d say, but he doesn’t strike me as having recently had a bonfire. “Station Zwolle..”, shit. He passes me, taking the suspicious scent with him. I quickly google the words ‘fire’ and ‘Schiphol’, but the first hit is an article from 2012. With a sigh, I re-open ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’.