This morning, as I quietly stood on the landing, I heard someone below fail to realize I was standing above, listening to the sounds of the insects and watching the infrequent traffic. My cat Güino stood next to me, sniffing the air.

A series of staccato flatulent blasts interrupted the nature sounds.

They weren’t mine, in case you’re pondering.

One, two, three, four; the toots almost echoed against the cheap vinyl siding and the wooden platform above the anonymous performer.

I couldn’t help it.

I laughed.

Below, a single word was uttered: “Oops!”

If you can’t even fart outside at 3:30, nothing is sacred.

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