There's no denying it. There is a smell here with me, and like the end of Fight Club it turns out we're one and the same. Damn. My body has gathered all odor unto it. Crotch. Pits. Feet. Desperate unwashed khaki. Stain RESISTANT khaki worn so many days in a row that yes...there are stains.

Seriously. I can smell me. The foot odor rises to mingle with the ball stink and then together they waft upwards to join forces with the aroma of my underarms (pea soup stale). This potent, fetid clash of smells roils about me like a cloud of neglected dorm pizza.

I'm reeking havoc.