Williamsburg (Brooklyn)

by Jeff Glovsky

Someone farted here, it seems.

The heatful, reeking scent of an offense assails my nostrils so I cannot breathe … I need to keep my breath held, hold from spilling tears out.

Geez … Like this is kindergarten!  Haven’t smelled such fun in years.  I shift uncomfortably, a little … Nostrils overfill with fume; my head swims, accusations fly!

“It wasn’t me!” a hipster grins, to no one in particular.