It could happen...

He sits in a quick huff, jockeying to nab a seat on the rapidly filling train, and slouches against the plastic siding that encases the window. His jacket feels oppressive now that body heat is captured in close quarters with the other passengers of this public transportation, and especially since the heavyset woman encroached into the other seat and spilled over into his space. She looked at him and quickly turned her head away, farted softly but strongly in smell, and then called someone on her cellphone. He grimaced, held his breath, found his ipod and headphones, and inwardly swore against his bad luck with cars and repairs which forced his hand and made him take public transportation. As he put in the earpieces, he smelled a new and urgently pungent whiff of her bowels and knew he had to move...relocate...get the heck out of there. But her hulking form blocked the narrow seat's exit and she clearly was enjoying her gassing. His unfortunate situation now called for superior cunning.

As the train approached the next stop, he gathered his bag and motioned to exit, standing and kneeing the lady in a protruding fat roll. She turned, and saw him as needing to get off and swiveled onto a sideways butt check. He slithered over around her unattractive curves, more like bulges, and passed through a third fog of released rectal gas. He made for the door, but then turned and planted himself, standing next to the door without exiting. Several folks near his seat looked at his movement, obviously understanding his reason for escaping the stink and admiring his skill in the evasion. But Stinky didn't look so happy; she realized that she had been duped. Her eyes narrowed and a look of concentrated animosity bore into him. Two surrounding passengers began coughing and the blood ran from their faces until they were white, pasty, hacking victims of her ill-will toward him.

He didn't budge or blink an eye. No one, particularly this gaseous sloth, is going to practically crap on him and not feel the recriminations of such a callous action. The exit strategy worked fine, but it was only the beginning of his retribution. On the public transportation system, folks don't speak outloud unless they are a) crazy, b) looking for money, c) evangelists, or d) about to kill/maim/hurt you. He reached deep within himself and proclaimed with a very loud voice, "A FARTER IS AMONG US!!! Yes, Miss Gassy Ass has decided to let us all know just how bad her butt smells!!!". He slowly, purposefully, leveled his pointing finger as the wideload seethed with hate from his former seat. Most heads turned and looked, though some passengers were oblivious due to ipods or sleep.

Instantly pandemonium ensues in the crowded car. Someone shrieked, "I Knew It!", an old woman drew a bitter face, young black guys in Akademic sweats started laughing, two folks quickly moved out of desperation for fresh air, and the fat, smelly chick locked eyes with him, conversation on the phone now at a deadened halt, and began to rise from the seat. The train was slowing into the station, Inman Park (where his friend Carleigth lives and he could probably hide at her house), and the doors opened. She was within grabbing distance, but he swooped and dodged and dipped out of the train at a strong trot with only the echoing jeer resounding down the station walls, "You Enjoyed It, White-Boy Ass Smeller." It was an untrue taint on his name, his pride, heck his own white butt, and he bravely slipped between the closing doors to face his accuser and her announced slander.

His book bag fell, his cut jacket hung strangely, red spilled from his side--the shiv went deep into his abdomen and he faltered, falling in a slowmotion crumble. His head was next to her large ass and he felt the rancid hiss cover his face, engulfing his last gasps of conscious breathes in a swampy haze before the floor rested his fading, diminishing viewpoint and Marta dealt with another dead body.