Depending on the person's gender, we may respond by sniffing our right hand to check out the person's odor, or our left hand to smell ourselves in comparison.
There's still some Italian left: the eternal smell of fresh bread from Parisi Bakery, founded in 1904, the year of the birth of Marie Albanese, who now sits outside the meat store at No. 238, where she was once the butcher and where her son now works.
He then smelled my left arm, frowning, "Yo, dude, after that first one, I can barely smell it".
His office, in the Sunday-school annex, to the left of the church, smelled of paraffin and linoleum glue.
Mr Plotnik and his colleagues placed a white cross above the elephants' right eyes and an invisible cross over the left eye, so that neither smell nor a memory of paint being applied should tell the elephants where the conspicuous marking was.
To the left, there's a putrid smell: A lady is sprawled out on the floor in her own feces, staring blankly at the ceiling.
The left sinus was discharging foul smelling pus.
His success smells neither of the left, nor of the right.
There, too many people, commitments, and smells of a life left might make this important transition seem less complete.
A high-pitched "Do you smell something burning?!" — eyes darting left and right — generally works.
