Stench.

It’s late August, so all you Blue Line riders know what that means. Yes, that’s right... it’s “stench” season, where even the smelliest of Blue Line denizens go that extra mile to make us gag. Now some of these people are truly down-trodden and deserve sympathy and a leg up in addition to a shower, but a large percentage of them are in fact construction workers that work in the hot sun and then seemingly choose not to shower for three days.

The most skillful offenders always manage to find a way to make sure that their arms are in a position as close to my face as possible by clever use of the overhead handrails.

Maybe the worst thing, though, is getting onto a train at the end/beginning of the line in downtown LA, and finding that there is a lingering stench glurping about the train car. I usually go in and sit down anyway - it’s my only way home, after all. That’s when I start wonder, though, if I was lucky enough to get the seat that the stench just vacated. This is far from a comfortable feeling. It is - in fact - the epitome of first-dregree olfactory assault with a side of creepy, nasty grossiness. Plus, I’ve ofen considred burning the clothes I’m in when this happens, but today, I’m wearing new pants.

Maybe I should rethink my wardrobe until late October.