This morning arrived in the form of a smoking caterpillar, wheezing down the streets with large, gulping exhalations.

Walking onto the bus, I gave great thanks for my dulled sense of smell. It’s no elephant in the room that the metro stank something terrible at all hours of the day, but today there was a particular parfúm of blueberry bagel and weed, with lingering notes of infant spit. Seattle Metro, how I resent you some times.

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