Dogs and Smoke

When one lives in a rural area and doesn't own a car, the minibus becomes the main transport option.

Aside of the glut of reckless drivers and the headaches they create, the minibus has one glaring problem: pungent passengers. Though most Hong Kongers are mindful of personal hygiene, the odd one who isn't can stink up a minibus in a hurry.

We're not talking about violent B.O. here (in more than seven years I've only encountered that eye-watering reek a handful of times), we're talking about less intense but still repulsive odors, two of which are more common than I'd prefer: dogs and smoke.

A simple fact of village life is that numerous folks own dogs, and big ones at that. I knew that before we moved, but nothing could have prepared me for people who climb aboard smelling as though they were wearing the dog's blanket.

An ancient, long-unwashed blanket.

When this occurs my first thought is I'm glad it's not raining. The other rank emanation wafts from fellows who chain-smoke in tiny rooms. Dude, when your clothes are yellowed and shot-through with stale tobacco smoke, it's time to consider dry cleaning.

Or just burning them.

Either way would suit me fine.

Come to think of it, a rank rider is a possible explanation for why some minibus drivers speed: they'd do anything to be rid of the stench.

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