Death Perfume

Friday 1st April

I caught the train from Central, never knowing when the train would stop being a can of sardines. Akira sniffed and extracted her phone from her bag. It was another stuffy day when we missed the Quakers Hill and had to catch the Penrith.

I'm against overdosing of Impulse or deodorants of the like. So why did the kind lady sitting on the floor next to me have to suddenly spray a fountain of it on herself...and suffocating me to death in the process? Was my pained grimace too much to explain?

Akira: Something smells weird.
Me: *glance*

Good thing Sydney trains aren't airtight. I'd have died.