My state of mind was forged between a hostile home environment and the smells of an unhealthy home. My father would sweat garlic sauce, my mother was too fat to wipe her ass and my sister wore polyester over her hairy  twat and ass.  Everyone smoked cigarettes and consumed copious amounts of bacon and Kentucky Fucky Chicken.

My dad was pissed off because he was useless, my mom would cry and complain and sis stank the place up. I was no charmer either, but at least I recognized that our lives were grease encrusted, foul smelling, rectal sweat droplets.

I had built a tree fort high above the stench of my home. It had no roof or walls, just a few planks laid between large tree limbs. As much as I could, I would escape there to cleanse my mind, heal my nostrils and let the breezes carry away the stink of my life.

I became obsessed with people's body odors and I did everything to avoid them, including taking a job as a lighthouse attendant. There, on an island living alone, never would the smell of stale cigarettes, boozy breath and uncleansed bottoms penetrate my nasals. Over time, it got lonely and I longed for the smell of a peach orchard during harvest. The perfumes masked the scents of the stinky people.

The sweet smell of peaches would soon fade away and again the trauma would begin. Before the blossoms of spring time could relieve my torment, I took a job as a bell tower operator. Up there I could reminisce of fresh breezes cleansing my being from the smogs of humanity. It was short lived however, as the congregation entered the Basilica,  air would rush by all the filthies, up to my loft, coating me in their soot.

A job opening at the local  corn silo became available. Up high away from the cities, away from throngs and thongs of congregating people is  where I took refuge. It was dry, hot and dusty, but the only thing I could inhale was the sweet smell of corn.  While trying to reach over the rail to open the chute, I fell deep into the silo. Corn quickly filled my throat and nostrils. My final thought was wishing I could once again smell the fragrance of, what many people thought was my favorite Christmas gift. A bottle of Old Spice.