[ WP ] Some people can see the future . You ? You can smell it .

On the morning of the accident I awoke to the smell of charred flesh. Something about the *texture* of the smell instantly keyed me in to the fact that the smell was n't from the now, but a portent of the smells to be. 
 
 
 Smelling the future was my gift, or curse as it more often worked out. I lost my best friend to it a few years back, and now I try to keep what I smell to myself. They say `` He who smelt it dealt it.'' I stopped him from getting into his car after a night out together. I had smelled a combination of alcohol, gasoline, and burned rubber. Made him take a taxi. Turned out that the taxi driver had been drinking, lost control and killed them both on the highway. Fuck that. I've ignored the smells ever since. 
 
 
 By late morning I was starting to crack. The smell of burnt flesh was beginning to get on my nerves. I'd been eating mints and drinking strong coffee all morning in an attempt to drown it out, but it was just up there in my nostrils. Deep up there. I'd been worrying non-stop about what it could mean. I'd checked all the fire extinguishers in the office, at least twice. I made sure to `` accidentally'' bump into the maintenance man and managed to work in an inquiry about the state of the sprinkler system. ( It had been tested only two weeks ago ) Still, the smell was more than a bit worrying. 
 
 
 By the time we broke for lunch, my sanity was nothing but a thin veneer clinging to a frightened mess. Earlier that morning I had unplugged the toaster and hidden it in a cabinet above the fridge. It was kind of old, and I was worried it might short out or something. Now, upon entering the break room I saw my coworker Frank standing on a chair and attempting to get it down. I cursed under my breath. Before I could offer to help, it happened. As Frank lifted the toaster away from the shelf, the chair began to slide. I was frozen in horror. The chair slid back and Frank fell forward, still clutching the cursed appliance. Frank landed on the floor, fazed but unhurt. The toaster landed on the counter next to the fridge, right on top of Frank's just-microwaved Tupperware enclosed lunch. The impact sent a torrent of hot roast pork straight at my head, filling my nose with barbecued meat. 
 
 
 Frank looked up from the floor: `` Sorry, man. I guess I do n't need to toast my sandwich roll now. I'm going to McDonald's. Want anything? It's the least I could do after that.'' I did n't hear a thing. I was too busy wiping sauce from my eyes and laughing.
