Three hours in, and it’s a crapshoot as to whose self-control has disintegrated faster than tissue paper kissed by a lit match.

From where, oh where
did that blast of vile wind spring forth?

What insidious organ expelled you from its moonless abyss?

Or did you escape intentionally?

Your stench revolts,
insults,
first my nostrils, then my stomach.

How dare you wrap your noxious fingers ’round my throat?

A villain! That’s what you are –
forcing me to cease drawing my next breath in order to avoid suffocating on
your putrid perfume.

If you weren’t invisible, I’d say you were the color of mold.

I pray you will dissipate as quickly as you arrived.

Alas –
’tis in vain.

Retching,
on the verge of losing consciousness –

Perchance a sniff?
A brief whiff?

Ahhhh, but you linger
on
and on
and on.

Drowning in a sea of fetid fumes,
I hold my breath again
in an attempt to wait out your proclivity
to attach yourself to anything you’ve come into contact with –
the seat,
the window shade,
my left shoe.

One’s own is offensive enough,

but yours
10D,
10E,
10F?
Heinous!