“Smell”
May 23, 2018Ryan was out on his balcony smoking a cigarette. It was early in the morning and the sun was just starting to rise. He puffed the cigarette smoke so it floated in front of the sun, creating a subtle mask of haze.
He peeked over the balcony, bending as far forward as he could, to look down at the balcony below him. Some young hippie chick moved in a few months ago and he could always smell weed coming from down there, no matter the time of day. But not this morning.
From what he could see, there was a disco ball on a small table. Next to it was one of the India windchime-talker thingamajigs, what’s it called . . . a dreamcatcher. There was a wicker chair in the far left corner. A cat was asleep on it.
No smell of weed this morning. But there was a different smell. Not quite burning, not quite rotting, something in between. The cat didn’t seem to mind and continued being a lazy cat, minding its own business, not giving a fuck about the world around it.
Ryan looked up and the sun had barely risen above the horizon but it felt like he had been staring down at the balcony for a good half hour.
He was still in his Me Undies boxer briefs, the pink ones his ex had given him for Christmas. She actually gave him two packs, cos there was a mix up while ordering and they sent her multiple orders but only charged her once. Being the bitch she is, she never sent the extra set back. Ryan didn’t care, though, cos it was his ass and balls that benefited.
He needed to shit and shower and get ready for work. But he wasn’t in the mood to face the day. And the smell of burning rot, or rotting burn, was starting to work its way into his apartment. He wanted to call down to his neighbor below and ask what the fuck was going on down there. But he didn’t feel like interacting with her. He never felt like interacting with her. She always had people over, talking loudly with that horrible modern upspeak so many people have acquired living on the west coast.