poor Jose

A yellow Chevy mini van with ladders piled high on top, pulled out in front of me at my gesturing and the driver waved a thank you.
Immediately I noticed the right back window had been callously smashed in.
I figured it must have been discovered this morning since a glinting puddle of shattered window still lay on the bumper. I realized the tiny chunks of safety glass contained the important last half of the business moniker that had been so carefully hand rendered onto the back of the van. I had hoped others would be as attentive as I to the hanging rollers, splattered brushes and air compressor that were in plain sight so there would be no confusion when following instructions on the van:

"dial 770-421-9732 for Jose's PAIN"

Consider the lilies of the field

When travellight asked who wanted to come with her to see the world's largest flower that emits the odor of rotting flesh in furtive pheromonal waves - well, I couldn't say "yes" fast enough.

The "Corpse flower" is native to Indonesia and in its standard forty year lifespan will only flower two or three times. In order to compete with the other more prolific flowers in the Sumatran rain forests it depends on the unlikely carrion beetles and flesh-eating flies to flock to its giant petals for the sex transaction. The bugs leave unfed, but covered in pollen.
I was silly with anticipation.
We met up with friedrich in the lobby and wound our way through a man-made tropical forest, pushing aside enormous palm fronds and friendly orchids.
As usual I played the part of Gilligan.
The tiny path suddenly opened up into a large arboretum. There in the center was a six and half foot tall Amorphophallus titanum, partially open and looking like something from the set of "Little Shop of Horrors." A black rope kept most people at a respectable distance, however as my mother is fond of reminding me, I am not like most people.
I leaned way over and breathed in all the way to my toes.

I couldn't smell a thing.

Undaunted I approached the other side and this time no leaning was necessary. A remarkably rancid smell hit me in the face like a fetid frying pan. The most accurate description I can come up with is the smell is similar to week old road kill combined with damp sweaty gym socks. I suspect my companions stayed longer in the immediate area just to humor me.
People wandered about in small clumps murmuring to each other about how they couldn't smell anything. Like a Machiavellian girl scout, I would helpfully direct them to the pungent corner. Their faces would change from a look of suspicion to eye watering dismay as they put their hands to their face to block this olfactory offender. Small children with squinched up expressions would exclaim "EEEWWWW!" and cast angry looks at parents who insisted they experience nature at its most unsavory.
A conspicuously pregnant woman took one whiff and promptly ran from the room.

I must offer up my most sincere gratitude at this point because frankly, I just can't think of a better way to spend an afternoon.