Plaza Loma - Chapter One

Every year, starting in week 10, the stank begins. So much so that I started receiving complaints from family members, colleagues, and the occasional bystander who had the unfortunate experience of being in my vicinity. "Sir, what is the stink?" is the most common question I receive, and it's currently being asked by an older gentleman wearing thick-rimmed, black-framed glasses, white New Balance shoes, a members-only jacket, and haggard slacks.  

"That is underfeat," I yell at the top of my lungs, scaring the people at the corner store cheese counter. "I, unlike you, sir, am a genius, a procrastinator of the future. People would pay me so much money to hear what I have to say and the advice I can give. They would fight each other for the shot to sit with me." The looks of confusion and bothersome faces project caution in hopes that the situation doesn’t deteriorate further than it has. The civility of the corner-store cheese-counter line has been rocked. Rocked by...