Candle smoke from a wax, non-beeswax red candle on a black oak table. Having my nose picked by a specially-trained lemur who washes his hands in a sweet rosewater and lye lassi. (I insist on the sterilization, because my mother always told me that the devil finds work for lemur hands. Except, of course, when they built the lemur tower of Pisa.) The lye run-off from the purification of grits, and the staining on the table leading to a reapplication of furniture polish. An acerbic humorless nose, woody and resinous; kinda retsina-like.
Woof! the peat-dog barks. Meow! the smoke cat rejoins, before scampering under an ottoman. A peat energy bar released by a company about to go out of business–sorry, no more rounds of venture capital funding for you! Chocolate-covered carob chips marketed to hypochondriacs who think they should, but don’t really want to, lose weight.
A menthol finish, like the nicotine-stained hands of a stoneworker who usually carves limestone and occasionally granite turning instead to crushing koala bear cud with a marble mortar and pestle.