Butterfinger BBs always reminds me of my mother.
She was a single mother; so on her days off she would pick me up from my grandmother’s and we would go to a convenience store and get snacks and sodas. (and for some reason she would get a pack of swishers, no ideas why she would want snacks with a cigarillo, especially since she would slice them open)
We’d go back to my uncle’s house she was renting a room from, hang out in her bedroom and watch The Simpsons, eat butterfingers, and play Mario World.
Not a single food, ever. Nor smells, besides the smell of burning DMT as I rode past a row of plants on my bike.
People always talk about how strongly scent and taste are linked to memory and I can never relate. Then again, I’ve never had a strong memory.