Why did I not write anything here last night? Why oh why! Easy now. I will tell you. You see, it's like this. I played Resident Evil 4 all night, that's why. Andre came over and we played that ULTRAMEGASUPERAWESOME game from 6:00pm all the way through to 2:30am.
Anyway. Yesterday afternoon I walked down the street to do some things. Then I got a bus home. I got on the bus and it was almost full. No seats. Not one. Goddam it. But wait! The seats right at the back appeared to be empty! I made my way to the back of the bus and there was a man sitting on the far left seat, so I sat on the far right seat. There were still three empty seats between us, yet no sooner had I sat down and pulled out my book when a black funk assaulted my nostrils. I should say a yellow funk because it was the singular smell of stale urine. I looked over at the man in the other corner, it was coming from him. His pants were shiny, pants that were not made to be shiny. His hair was at crazy angles and seemed to be bathed in dirt, or ashes. None of that bothered me. But THE SMELL. Overwhelming. Alive. God Almighty it was savage and eye-watering. It seemed that I could actually see the air around us wavering like a heat haze. I looked around at other people. Surely they could smell it. I searched for any sign. No, they could have been sitting in a fragrant garden drinking iced tea.
Oh well, if it doesn't bother them, why should it bother me? I would not let it bother me. I was getting off again soon anyway.
Then a guy came up and sat between me and stinky. First thing I noticed was that this guy had liberally doused himself in after shave, or cologne, or something, which instantly neutralised the smell from our friend in the other corner. For me at least. Then the guy took out a book, but he didn't open it right up, he sat there holding it, making small movements of his head. The funk had caught his attention, for sure. That was it. Anyway, the book was a Tom Clancy novel. Tom Clancy, I thought, isn't he the guy that writes books about covert ops and special forces and all that shit? I continued looking sideways, covertly that is, at the guy, and noticed he was muscular, but not in the preening gym jerk way that most muscular dudes around this part of the city are. This guy looked like the kind of guy that if you smashed a mahogany table over his head, it would have the same effect as if a fly had landed on it. And his haircut was strange, unfashionable, but that would be the last thing you would tell him.
Then I noticed a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. BLOOD GROUP A POS. Why the hell did he have THAT tattooed on his arm? It struck me as the oddest thing in the world. What kind of man has his blood type tattooed on his arm?
But then he snapped his book shut and got up and stood in the aisle. I guessed that the smell had gotten the better of him. I could understand it. The smell was bad enough from where I was, but he had been almost right next to him.
Then it was my stop. I jumped up, not a little thankfully I might add, and made my way to the door. But walking home, I continued to wonder about that guy with his blood group tattoo. I remembered he was reading a Tom Clancy book. Covert Ops? Special Forces? Do those guys have their blood group tattooed on their arm?