A good friend will smell a stranger's coat with you

A few months ago, during a celebratory pre-Christmas bar crawl, I found a discarded winter coat at the foot of my stool on the floor of a bar.  My first drunken impulse was to smell it.  I smiled a weird, guilty yet delighted smile as I brought it to my nose, knowing full well that it was a socially unacceptable thing to do, but also knowing that my nasal curiosity would always win over social grace.  The outside smelled faintly woodsy; I ventured to the inside of the jacket, a soft furry dark blue lining that carried an androgynous pine scent.  It was heavenly, like a slice of home; I could almost see the evergreens towering above me, hear the creaking of wooden trunks and feel the soft, moist forest air on my face.  

Being an XL jacket, there was plenty of jacket to share, so naturally I invited my dear friend to partake in this scentual delight.  Without even a moment of visible judgement, she joined me and we dove our faces into the jacket here and there saying "mmm that's nice" and "oooh smell this part!" 

"I wonder whose it could be" I said and glanced around the bar for people that might smell like the Pacific Northwest.  My friend aptly pointed out that it was "only lovely because there's no man attached" and I considered that it might be best to keep its owner in my fantasy as a ghostly glimmer, a personification of home.

 As the night drew to a close, we mournfully departed with the jacket, and each other, and left the blanket-like garment on the bar stool, abandoned once again.

From time to time I look back on that night, and think fondly about that pine-scented jacket with soft blue lining; but I wonder if what I'm really cherishing is a faint resemblance of home, or perhaps the strange bond of smelling a strangers jacket with a good friend.