Book: In search of Alaska

After Alaska was gone, I didn't think about how it smelled. But when the Colonel opened the door, the nose was hit by this aroma: wet earth, grass, tobacco smoke, and above all this - notes of vanilla milk for the body. She flooded my present again, and it was only out of a sense of tact that I didn't put my head in her overflowing tank of dirty laundry standing by the dresser. Everything was exactly as I remembered: hundreds of books in stacks stand along the walls, a crumpling light purple blanket lying at the feet of the bed, a rickety tower of books and on a small table, a volcano candle sticking out from under the bed. Everything looked as I expected, but the smell, which undoubtedly belonged to Alaska itself, shocked me. I stopped in the middle of the room, closed my eyes, and slowly inhaled through my nose: vanilla, an unmowed autumn grass, but with each slow breath the aroma became weaker as I got used to it, and soon Alaska disappeared again.