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.