“There's only one reason I can't be a butcher.”
“You're a vegetarian, a vegan, a soy-swilling animal rights activist?”
“No, I hate the smell of meat. I'm very particular about my smell.”
Stefan really was very particular about his smell. He hated the smell of meat, lavender and a room overpowered by sage. Conversely, he enjoyed the smell of his own urine and the taste of bushfire. He was not adverse to smelling others' body odours either. In fact, just last week Stefan received peculiar looks from fellow passengers when a lady alighted the tram and he put his nose to where her buttocks had been. The strange thing is, Stefan was happy to smell it, but hated sitting down immediately after someone else; he found the warmth of another body most disconcerting.
He was full of little peculiarities and contradictions. He understood the meaning of the phrase 'hardly would have impressed the French Court', using it when alluding to a TV presenter’s quip or a daily's cartoon, but he couldn't tell you the meaning of 'egalite'.
Curiously, Stefan didn't think of himself as homosexual, bisexual or even straight. He preferred to smell the seat of a girl but often found men more fascinating. Today there is a boy on his tram he feels would complement his genetics perfectly, if only they were able to mate and create. This boy had the height he lacked, a slender frame and rosy, soft skin. This boy had all the Arian qualities that made Stefan swoon, but with eyes that hid something dreadful. What could it be, Stefan wondered. The shame of homosexuality? Childhood loss? Soiled underwear? No, he couldn't smell it, he couldn’t smell this boy’s soiled underwear.
Then it dawned. If only this boy were meat, Stefan could fulfill his dream of being a butcher.
