Smell

It smells like ass. No, I can be more creative than that. It smells like potstickers that have been stuffed into used soccer socks, soiled with musty earth and Tabasco sauce. It smells like a skewered guts, festering in the sunlight, flies adding to the ambience. It’s insufferable. It feels thick and impenetrable. I can’t escape. It permeates everything, the walls, the sheets, the rug, and now, my clothes, my hair, my very skin. It’s rancid and stale and insidiously strong. It continues to seep into my nostrils without my knowledge, without my control. Goddamnit, it really smells like ass.