dear man in the men's restroom in the courthouse,
i do not know you, nor do i know your face. but i do know your smell.
each day around 11 a.m you bless us with your stench. it fills not only the restroom, but my office. a smell that cannot be described any other way but the smell of death.
please take no offense to what i am saying. you may actually be near death's door, but could you please light a match? i cannot handle the smell much longer. to have people walk into the office and believe it is me who unleashed the apocalypse is never a fun thing.
the worst is when i walk in the restroom while you are in the process of dying. the heavy breathing and grunting can be helped. you could also flush the toilet while you are still in the middle of creating your havoc.
your smell clings to my clothes and nose hairs.
like i said before, i mean no offense... just please bring some matches or find somewhere else to die.