the moneytalk

April 9, 2013

Today I got into the elevator with an older gentleman. We rode in some silence together for several floors and I stood and wondered if that smell could really be coming from him. I had smelled it in the lobby as he mashed the Up button, and again when he pressed the button for his floor number, and mine. We hit his floor and he exited, and there could be no mistaking it; a cloud of Victoria’s Secret Sweet Pea wafted out with him, leaving my brain with a cacophony of thoughts, all very useless, most more or less incoherent.

It would possibly not be so startling to my brain to realize that a very grown man in jeans and a fleece, albeit with a very nice shoulder bag, is wearing VS Sweet Pea, except that it probably would anyhow because that is the scent of a teenage girl who is also maybe a stripper, but when I myself was a teenage girl I wore copious amounts of Sweet Pea. And I know the difference between smelling like it ’cause some female has been around or all over you, and because you have aimed the aerosol directly at yourself and let it rip.

So my brain stuttered and blinked and went dark, and made that buhhhhhhh powering down noise the Enterprise makes when it’s taken too much damage to the reactor or what have you, and you can go fuck yourself and just climb up the hyperlift shafts with a bunch of children strung behind you like beads on a friendship bracelet.

Mostly I think that this all systems shut down is due to an overwhelming sense of shame at the full force folly of my younger years, as brought to me by Sweet Pea in an elevator, thirteen to sixteen years after the fact, just as sickly sweet and sinus rot extreme as ever it was.

Also I really liked P.O.D.

I am


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