I have my nose buried in the Tribune on my usual Red Line commute into the city.
Then my nose is brutally assaulted.
As we pull away from the Granville station, the strong perfume
scent permeates the entire car. I turn around and immediately spy
It was a 60-something woman in a bad blonde wig, a mink coat and black velour pants with gold piping running down the seams.
Honey, please, ease off on the dousing of cheap perfume.