A few days ago, a well-to-do older lady got on the elevator with me. She farted. It smelled like cooked broccoli water filtered through a homeless man's soiled underwear. I was wearing headphones so this professional odor sneaked up on me and weakened me at the knees. Soon the entire elevator reeked of a high-grade foulness that scientists in a specialized lab couldn't reproduce. The only consolation was that she knew that I knew that she farted. We lived with her shame for the few floors we shared in the elevator. I exited and a new victim entered the soiled confinement, so I knew the olfactory offensive would have confirmation. The pic relates to the face I saw as the elevator doors closed.