It is a universal truth that every international music section in every music store you have ever visited in the entire world smells like farts. Don't ask me why, but it's true. I visited Barnes & Noble today trying to find a copy of a very old school 1980s movie on DVD and decided to swing through the music section. This truth was very evident, might I say.
Also, this morning on the L train into work, a man openly admitted to me and the crowd around the two of us that he had farted. I'm pretty certain everyone noticed the smell, but honestly - who would say anything? But apparently this man does not live by this rule. Very plainly, he said "That was me. Sorry, my wife made chili last night." Everyone kind of giggled, except for me. I shook the man's hand and introduced myself. I just met my new hero. And his name is Garry Cartledge of Brooklyn, New York.
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