Thanks so much for choosing to sit next to me on the train. Also I'd like to thank you for purchasing a Pretzel Dog before you decided to sit next to me. I thought that just a nice older woman had plopped down next to me but I had underestimated you. You weren't just some ancient creature with a strong scent of attic and death. No. You, ma'am, were a full blown crazy old bat who pulled a half eaten, and might I say HUGE, pretzel dog from your purse. Alone, you smell, a lot. But you've opted to add to your musk the scent of steamed processed meat and old pretzel dough. Bold choice to be sure. I imagine your cats never complain so I guess you wouldn't know any better. I'm writing to inform you that the odor of the Auntie Anne's famous recipe coupled with your self produced perfume is enough to make me want to derail this commuter train. I say this with compassion. Clearly you've a very sad life as made evident by the purse seemingly filled with hot dogs you hold on your lap. So, if you wouldn't mind either A.) Bathe B.) Finish the hot dog directly after you purchase it or C.) fucking sit somewhere else.
Love,
Drew
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