I don’t eat meat. Nor do I smoke. But every morning I awake to the smells of burning bacon and cigarettes upon cigarettes being endlessly lit. My neighbors don’t seem to understand with each seasonal change your diet should reflect that same energy swing.
Instead they cook, if that’s what you want to call it, pounds of flesh daily. No matter the time or temperature. The building wreaks of their bad taste. Can the moving gods please see fit to grant me a place closer to the water’s edge? And soon. Cue the ocean smells.
Let’s not forget the Vietnam vet living in the first apartment. Seriously, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. Thanks to Capt. Chain Smoker I have the pleasure of being greeted with the acrid smell of packaged addiction every time I open my window in an attempt to get some fresh air.
Hell, I can still smell it even when it’s closed. Sheesh! I can only imagine what his lungs must look like. Never understood how and why so many people willingly invest in killing themselves. I don’t normally pull out a soapbox but I am sick of smelling this shit. Literally.