Every subject has a rhythm
Sometimes when I'm barely even thinking about it, I remember the way this factory smelled, sounded, one I worked at as a college student left to fiddle about on his own for the summer. It'll come when I'm just walking to the store, some driver that revs up his motor with an aggressive gas pedal stomp, that particular blend of car exhaust and rubber. Or maybe when I'm sitting next to a guy on the train, cooling himself with a handheld paper fan, and some of it blows my way, or I hear a worker jack-hammering a sidewalk into dust, these little sounds and smells, human rhythms.