Petrichor refers to the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather; the pleasant, earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry ground.

It’s a combination of two Greek words: “petra” meaning stone, and “ichor” meaning the blood of the gods. This word was coined by two Australian scientists in 1964, who described the smell as “an oily essence”.

Once upon an recent afternoon, in the bustling city of San Francisco, there lived a man named Harold. Harold was your typical SF denizen, a tech-obsessed investment wizard whose life revolved around stocks, shares, and the ever-fluctuating market. He rarely had time to appreciate the simpler things in life, like the aroma of freshly brewed coffee or the delicate rustle of autumn leaves.

One day, after a particularly stressful day at work, Harold decided to take a walk in Golden Gate Park. As he was strolling, the skies opened up, and a sudden downpour began. Harold, unprepared as he was, took shelter under a large oak tree. As the raindrops kissed the parched earth, a distinctive scent filled the air.

“Is that… Is that piss I’m smelling?  Is it literally pissing out here?” Harold wondered aloud, scrunching up his nose. A passerby overheard him and laughed.

“No, sir,” the stranger corrected with a smile, “That’s petrichor.”

“Bong wash!” Harold exclaimed, annoyed.  “It’s piss.”

The stranger breathed deeply, then admitted, “Okay, yes, that’s mostly piss.  The first rain of the season really wakes up all the piss and shit and fentanyl that covers this entire city, but if the rain keeps up like this for another ten minutes or so, it’ll be the wonderful smell of petrichor.” The stranger then explained the meaning of the word. Harold listened, fascinated. He took a deep breath, hoping to let the earthy scent fill his senses. Instead, he still got only the acrid stench of piss.  Rather than feeling the strange serenity that washes over people experiencing actual petrichor, he grew increasingly resentful and angry at the city with already caused him resentment and anger as the smell of piss continued to waft and billow into his nostrils.  

Then the rain suddenly stopped.  Both Harold and the stranger inhaled deeply and hopefully, but were crushed by the reality that is San Francisco.  “Nope…nothing but piss,” said Harold.  “There is simply more piss than rain water.”  

The stranger shrugged.  “Well, fuck it,” he said, resigned.  “I can give you some fentanyl and a hummer for $10.”  

“Sounds good,” replied Harold.  Harold followed the stranger into a nearby public restroom, where Harold was grotesquely violated and beaten by several drug-addicted, homeless friends of the stranger, and subsequently sold to human traffickers from Mexico.  

Feel free to share your own stories using ‘petrichor’ in the comments below.

N.P.: “Lion” – Saint Mesa