“I am Gas Man,” Ernie said somberly. “It’s not what you think.”

Leah sat, dumbly staring. Dude wasn’t even wearing a uniform. And who cares, anyway, what the guy does for a living?

“I don’t care what you do for a living, you big dummy. I like you for who you are.”

“No.” His tone was flat, but his rear end was _flatulent, _as it turned out. “I’m sorry, but I have to explain, before you lose consciousness completely!”

As the small room became gradually filled with the noxious odor of puke, onions and undercooked hamburger meat, Leah felt her gag reflex start to kick into overdrive. Before she knew it, she was entertaining hopes of Covid masks returning to fashion, or an allergic reaction that caused one’s nostrils to swell shut.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way.” Ernie’s expression was grave. He leaned forward. “But they’re already on their way.”

But he never got the chance to finish.

Great, merciful haze! As predicted, her focus was starting to waver, and the room grew dimmer, until all she could see was the narrow pinpoint of Ernie’s eyes swimming amidst a gaseous cloud of stink.

As a loud knock registered at the front door, followed by a resounding thud and the crack of wood, Leah’s last conscious thought formed and was quickly submerged in the drowning wave of oncoming oblivion.

I didn’t even get the chance to see him in uniform.