20
Clay hated bus rides. He made his breaths as shallow as he could, but it didn’t help. The smell of human bodies packed closely together was like holding his head over an open dumpster. An acrid tang of unwashed armpits predominated, but ancient foot sweat and greasy hair featured strongly too. To his regret, his nose could distinguish the sweat of physical labor from heat sweat, fear sweat, and urine-heavy foulness of unlaundered underwear. Then there were the ethnic food smells of garlic and onion, grilled lamb and fatty bacon, chilis and other peppers, all processed by the human digestive system and expelled in gaseous form.
He should have taken a cab. Except he didn’t want to leave any record of where he’d gone.
It was a relief to step down onto the sidewalk, until his next breath
