Once, when I went grocery shopping with our first-of-the-month check I grabbed a can of tuna that should’ve never made the shelf. I was pushing my cart, trying to find a way around the old lady on a scooter in front of me because, damn, she was rank. I drove home with a wrinkled nose and bad words in my mouth because apparently just moving through her stink had been enough for me to carry a whiff around with me. It wasn’t until I was carrying a bag into the trailer that I realized it was my punctured tuna can that smelled the whole time, and that old lady had probably been pushing that
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