the smacking of your lips and slurping of your sandwich are sending spasms through my neck. i can feel your horrid laughter vibrating through the pages of my magazine. you stink like burnt toast.
i hate everybody.
especially fat bodies.
and adolescents.
although i don't particularly mind fat adolescents.
........................................................
the plane lands on its heels, hesitant. it glides along with its toes in the air before flopping forward with an ungainly thump. passengers pour out of its orifices and rush to the restrooms, closeted as close as the plane seats, but with dwarf walls between each throne. lady farts are humming in every corner, like the brief throb of blowing across a glass bottle.
in the south, there are thousands of closets. the only things not hidden away are antiques or edibles.
