Wednesday, 10 May 2006

If you decide to blame the zombie, turn to page 58

The train was all sardines, I had my headphones on to drown out the funk and I expelled a little wind. Problem being, I couldn’t hear if I’d let a raspberry out or slipped a silent but violent down my trouser leg. Should I put on my best Sam “the Man” Jackson impression and look my fellow commuters in the eye while locking a stare that said, “Yes I cut the cheese but what are you going to do about it? Punk!” Or was a better tactic to fix my gaze somewhere in the middle distance and if I catch someone’s eye smile and give them the “I can’t smell anything and if you can then it’s come from your direction not mine.” It was like a Choose Your Own Adventure written by Hunter S. Thompson.

Of course I played it innocent but the expression on the suit’s face next to me revealed that I might have trumpeted a little on the way out. Regardless, I put my head down, read my book and swayed gently to the rhythm of the tracks. Yes, I took the coward’s way out, judge me if you must but which of you would have raised your voice in a crowded carriage and announced “I Farted”?

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