The memories come flooding back of the times that smell was most potent. Some of those were very intimate, but others were a gust of wind when we walked by the sea, or when she shuffled around trying to get comfortable in the car.
Those memories are just like movies. Little pieces of cinema in my mind. The only difference being the odours. You can smell a memory. I'm still on the train and this woman has no idea she's sent me tripping back to the past.
Films are strange because once they're done, that's it. You can go back again and again but you're rewatching the same thing.
Memories are different. They fade. They're not Blu-ray, they're old VHS copies. They wear out.
With a movie you believe that Harry and Sally stay together, maybe Alvy and Annie hold on to something.
In real life you're left with a smell. She's somewhere else now, and you're on a train dreaming of years that died long ago. They are so real, yet somehow feel like they never existed at all. They're just some movie you watched.