death row

After having a complete loss of composure on Friday, I'm back at 'em. I joined the Y, finally, after months of procrastinating. I went to a spin class. I'd forgotten how stinky them thar things can be.

I had a unique experience on Monday. Coming home from work, I sat down next to a man heading home from a construction-type job. Maybe he was a contractor. He was wearing a big shop coat and had a big, yellow, beat-up tool box with him. The tool box was covered in greasy finger prints and dings and gouges. He looked tired.

As soon as I sat down, I swear, I felt my chest constrict and my breath get shallower. It was like he was smoking. And not holding a cigarette and in the act of smoking... it was as though he were actually a huge burning pile of tobacco, carefully shaped to look like a man. He had a terrible cough. It shook his too-thin frame, rattled around his chest before breaking out. The man must be worn ragged by that thing. He kept burying his face in his jacket during his hacking. Maybe it was just the movement or maybe it was actually the smell of the air coming out of his lungs, but every time he coughed, I got a fresh faceful of smoke.

All I could think was "I'm sitting next to a dead man."

I was glad to get off the bus.