9 am jam

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So you are here at this station among the people dressed in black and gray, hardly a yellow was spotted although spring is around the corner, and the clothing stores would have you convinced that you should wear pastel everyday of this week. When the train arrives, you would hop on it (although the word hop is hardly appropriate since you more or less pull yourself up to step into the car). You scan the place, notice that there is a seat open, and you grab it quickly. You sit again, this time, on the red fake leather seat, which is torn at the corner, sandwiched between  the girl in black tights and a black leather jacket, and the fat man in gray sweat shirt and faded blue jeans. Tuesdays for some reasons are the worst in this morning train, you roll your eyes at the jam-packed seats.

Someone must have farted nearby. This God awful pungent smell seeps into your nostrils, and you try not to breathe. At least for a while. The air would clear for a while, and then another wave of odor would reach you again. You look around inconspicuously  searching for the offender.  Another wave hit you just as you sneak a breath through your mouth. It feels like you just swallow a lump of some foul creature’s flesh. You hold down your bile as the tsunami of horrid air hit you again and again. This is getting ridiculous you fume with outrage. You are going to solve this mystery and catch the perp who invaded this small space crammed with more people than it should have been in the first place.

Is it the girl? Is it the fat man? Is it the black lady standing next to the seat? What about the two kids, giggling by their mother? What about the mother, who looks frazzled even at 9 in the morning? You are going to get the bottom of this mystery. Then, you see the girl eying at you with suspicion. Then you think. What about me? Could it have been me all along? Could I be emitting this fume out of me, without me being aware of it? You try to pay attention to your body, the inner workings, the outer sensing, and realize you cannot be sure as well. God, I need some air, you scream inside your head, looking at one face after another, you are openly staring now.

“Ah that stinks!” the two kids yell simultaneously. And you look out the window, holding your breath, and shift your body slightly as if you were the guilty party.

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