You farted.

There on the subway car this morning, you cracked one off. Silent but deadly, it emerged stealthily and infused the tiny cracks and dank, humid airspaces wedged between our hundreds of bodies. There it overpowered the duelling odors of roubing and mediocre oral hygiene, plunging everyone into an inescapable olfactory universe of intestinal flora. It was a masterpiece of timing, calculated to introduce the unique aroma of your colon to as many innocent nostrils as possible. Bravo. Yes, there on the train, in that tiny, airless space, you farted.

But everyone looked at the white guy.