Nose matters

Paul and I were on the MRT. The train was like a can of sardines. It always is during rush hour. Between the sweaty bodies of people were small spaces comparable to intercellular spaces I see in my bio lab slides. This analogy, uhm, makes us the cells.

I was holding on to him, and he was holding on to a vertical metal pole so when the train would suddenly come to a stop, we wouldn't be thrown away. I suddenly whispered, "Paul, someone's smelling you."

He looked at me with shocked, disfigured eyes. And I knew at once that he became uncomfortable. Sometimes, I like making people uneasy, so I went on kidding him.

"Paul, someone's really smelling you."

"Hay nako, Lance."

I was giggling. "Paul, your scalp: it looks like a huge, spherical organ with lots of blackheads." "Paul, your head has a lot of moles. They can be cancerous, y'know?" I went on asking him questions like those until a huge part of the human population left when the train stopped in Cubao.

Finally, we got a chance to breathe. And sit.

Out of nowhere, he began giggling. "Lance..."

"Yes, Paul?"

"I think you need a nose job." People who heard him looked at my face, their eyes searching for my flat, olfactory organ.