I met him again..along the familiar road side, I met him again. I only realize it’s him, thru that familiar scent. That familiar mothball scent although the pandan smell is no longer there. It may have been overwrite by that familiar moth ball scent.
This time he came with tinted windows but the smell is still there. And its too late, I have already flagged and sat in there. Again bearing the smell through the journey I wish I could be dead. He must have hated his job. Toxicating us with that scent. Or he must be hallucinating we are the hateful moths, flying into his ride and we should be given a slow death.
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