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"Can I sit here?" Zelanie asked the aged woman whose chin was snuggled in her bosom. The woman looked up, startled. She gave Zelanie and agitated nod and turned her face to the window. Zelanie sat down. A slight frown formed. There was a stench that tantalized her nostrils. With every inhale the rank scent probed her brain. It was not the musk which peeled off the skins of the cramped passengers that tickled her nose. It smelled of medicine. It was old people.
Zelanie inwardly groaned and drummed her fingers against her bag. She hoped the bus would hurry. She was going to miss her flight.