Yesterday was a stinky day. A cantankerous and particularly odorous, crinkling nose, watering eyes, please move about five feet that way, kind of way. Not myself of course, but the people on the bus ride home. Particularly, on public transportation after 5pm, there exists the unforeseeable possibility that passengers on the metro will be pungent to an unsatisfactory degree with a chance of crazy. In the mix: Richard Simmons long lost brother and three dreggy peripatetic homeless; hoary, grayed, women with canes pointing at you to get out of their seat, lost tourists, local hipsters, kissing couples, ogling men, loud mouths, numerous packages, and foldable grocery carts. The homeless tend to waft heady combinations of urine and the decay of garbage, while others smell like a fresh bag of Fritos, and high-notes of sickly sweet perfume hang in the air. In total a physicality of hands, arms, and legs frisking against each other for lack of space. I only had three miles to go.
Fifteen minutes never felt so sleazy.
Photo by Mariano Perez
NO SAINTS IN L.A. 
Leave a comment