death scents redux

her smell of oozing pus possessed me faster than a woodpecker can peck 20x in a second. she reeks of open, slowly rotting wound.

her stench crawled through my veins the moment i accepted her invitation for conversation.

she wears deterioration like a strong french perfume. for an instance, i somehow associate her smell with my dying grandfather back when i was in third grade.

if the photoshop of my mind could slowly reconstruct her facial features, she will most probably look like celine dion.

she asks for the time.

5:30. i told her.

it’s my stop. the train door opens.

i proceed to my destination fast, far from the shadows of the subway.