Misadventures on the Metro

chapter 33
Last night was a fairly uneventful commute home – no unwelcome serenades, no sleazy pick-up lines, no nudity (that I know of). But then, like Pepe le Peu’s steaming trail of “love,” I caught whiff of a nostril-searing scent. I could tell it was bad, but as is often the case with unpleasant smells, I needed confirmation. I inhaled deeply.

Suddenly a familiar sourness pooled at the back of my throat. My eyes welled with tears. I swallowed hard.

Do I really smell vomit?

My stomach turned in confirmation. I held my breath (and stomach) for the remainder of the ride.

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This morning an ice storm ruined my day. While I had the boss’ blessing to arrive two hours late, I nearly died on the hockey-rink sidewalks.

When I reached the metro station, my train was pleasantly un-crowded, allowing me to find a seat and settle in for the ride.

Out of nowhere another stomach-turning musty smell began to overwhelm my airspace. I immediately ceased nose breathing and parted my lips, narrowly avoiding nausea.

Just then I glanced toward the closing doors and noticed the station sign. It should have read, “Hey, idiot. This is your stop! Why are you still on the train?”

Did I really miss my stop?

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After a minor detour, I made it back to my original destination. As I was exiting the station, I passed within a foot of a pigeon statue.

The statue adjusted its feathers.

Did I really just see a pigeon inside the depths of the metro station?

Weirder things have happened, I guess.

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