Now I don’t hate all male body odors. The smell of tobacco for instance is quite tolerable; the smell of a cowboy – a mixture of sweat and leather – can even be sexy. But the smell of week-old sweat and rotten flesh? Forget it. It made me gag and want to throw up right there and then.
I checked my ticket and hoped to prove myself wrong. No luck. 25C was my seat. And on it was a backpack filled with bottles of medicine. A pair of half-zombie-like half-mummy-like old arms was raking through them. And connected to the arms was the source of the smell - a stocky old man in a blue and pink checker shirt.
People behind me were pushing. I was blocking their way because I couldn’t get into my seat. This trip was killing me before it even started!
“Um, excuse me!” I held my nose and squeezed into my seat.
