The Big Stink: A Corpse Flower Grows in the Bronx

This is like when someone sniffs a carton of spoiled milk and offers it to you: Eew! Smell this. Why do we do that? Aren’t the regular olfactory assaults we endure in New York—urine, the subway, people, garbage, irresponsible dog owners—enough? Nope. Turns out this smell is stand-in-line-for-up-to-an-hour special.