Stink

Today you walked past me as I was out for a walk on my lunch hour. You were well-dressed, well groomed, altogether a fine specimen of a man. I admit, I ogled you as you passed by. You had that nonchalant, devil-may-care jaunt in your step. Then, a blue-hued waft of carcinogenic death hit me in the face. As an adjunct to that carefree bounce in your walk, you were puffing on a fag. Bleargh. I pulled my scarf around my face in the style of a yashmak and quickened my step to get down wind of the smoke. I succeeded. I thought, "yeah, his tar-ridden lungs will prevent him from getting past me again." I was wrong. You cannoned past me, oblivious to my irritation. This time I did not ogle you. You weren't as cool as you thought you were.

No.

You fucking stank.

Minger.