A New Yorker presents and rates seven of their most salient experiences, in no particular order.

They call it the city that never sleeps, call it high-energy, say it grows and even eats people alive. Well, as a near-living entity, I can tell you a couple more things it does: it breathes, and when it does, it smells. Considered by some to be the “(s)center of the universe,” you’re bound to find what you’re sniffing out on these streets—it’s just a question of how many stops you make along the way. Without further ado, here are the scents I recommend you check out in your time here, and those to approach with caution . . . if you dare.

1. The smell of spring is a seasonal pop-up that can reliably be found all around the city between April and early June, generally more concentrated in parks and tree-lined streets. But nothing is as special as catching it early—sometimes, as March starts getting old, and winter starts feeling like it’s definitely been around longer than last year, you’ll catch a whiff just briefly. It hasn’t set up shop yet, so it’ll just be a moment at first, something sweet and deeply refreshing, something that carries the promise of a warm yellow sun through those bright green leaves, of magnolia blooms and birds singing again. True, some argue that you can only get the “authentic” experience beyond the city limits, but I say its contrast against the city’s ceaseless barrage of sensation—car horns and neon lights and psychic readings galore—makes it all the sweeter. 5 out of 5 stars.

2. Alas, not all seasonal pop-ups are pleasant. When they warned us of global warming, of the melting of the ice caps, I didn’t think it would have a scent. Yet, as the city begins to thaw at last, and the soot-blackened mounds of snow start to melt, they begin to release (like the glaciers of yore) untold dangers held captive for so long. And in NYC at least, let me tell ya, they STINK! Stale, back-of-throat-scratching car exhaust and too-dark urine (we hope that’s dog) and finally rotting food scraps, a glorious symphony that we, the city, created in harmony. A rare occurrence in NYC, but not one I’d recommend seeking out. 1 out of 5 stars.

3. First, you are engulfed in steam, then a gentle warmth, then cautiously you breathe something clean and soft-scented—maybe lavender or eucalyptus. Strange for a moment to encounter this smell, unadvertised and unmarked, hovering by yet another cool brick edifice, until you spot a sliver of basement window, fluorescent lights, thrumming laundry machines. You remember everyone who has ever cared for you, made your bed, folded your clothes, made you warm and safe and dry. 4 out of 5 stars.

4. Shit! That one’s shit (and again you find yourself hoping it’s dog). Aaand yep, there’s a bit of it in the treads of your shoe. God damn it, you thought you were better than this. How can an animal that primarily subsists on kibble do this? I mean, it’s indescribable. More honestly, it is very much describable, but you’ve been trying not to breathe deeply since you got that first fresh whiff. Maybe if you just . . . yup . . . just scrape the bottom of your shoe right there on the curb . . . 0 out of 5 stars.

5. There is a particular spot, outside the strip club on 60th St between First and Second Avenue, which hosts an even more particular smell. One that you only get when you try very hard to mask one strong smell with another, and then, for some reason, try again. Spilling out of the tinted double doors by the dumpster, you’ll get top notes of bleach, cologne, chlorine, and something sticky. Underneath, a base note that can’t entirely be masked, although it might be entirely imagined; the smell of lust and bodies, booze and bodies again. I hear this one is an acquired taste, and I am just a little bit afraid of the people who have put in that work. Hey, it’s certainly unforgettable! 0 out of 5 stars.

6. The smell of baked goods is abundant and can be found all around the city, but I come to you today with a niche recommendation, a spot that you have to work to get to but is worth the effort. Crossing the Queensboro Bridge by bike or by foot, you’ll find, just as Queens looms beneath you, that the smell of salt and tar is hushed for a moment by the scent of fresh-baked bread. Yeasty, hearty, a hint of caramel and butter, and a pleasant mystery of how this smell found you here. Hours are unpredictable, but when it’s there, this is where it will be. 4 out of 5 stars.

7. You may not notice it when you’re in the subway, but always do when you find yourself on top of a subway grate and it blows its hot breath up from under you. There is a city underneath this city spewing old tunnel air and track grease and rats and rubbish and sweat from anyone just passing through, and it is a wet, warm smell that pushes itself up through the grates. It is evidence of progress and of old money, of an organism running out of new money, and of everything the city stands for. And a voice in the back of your head that suggests, kind of unreasonably (but then again, maybe not), that the more time you spend breathing it, the closer you get to your death. 3 out of 5 stars.