Infectious diseases and stale recycled air circulate endlessly through the ducts and seams of the Tangaras. Trains which have never seen the simple pleasure of open windows, like a traveling cage sealed in a CGC like state of preservation. Dirty are the seats and the seats are dirty. Personal space is sacred to most anyone willing to "be" comfortably.
Ahead after one station, a raggedy man with a man-made fibrous bag and hair matted beyond style, down and into the seats just in front. A horrendous ride as the overpowering stench started eyes on their watering of the cheeks. Breathing fully in an enclosed space was made harder. Bailed at the next station only to be hit with old lady smell.
Soon Van - Thursday, 24 April 2003 - 09:19
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