On teh platform at GC40Deuce, catch some faint wiffs of an unpleasant odor, kind of a rotten fish, briney, vomitous industrial canal type deal.
Get on the last car of the 4. The smell has followed me. Could it be me? I smell my sweatshirt, definitely not, I still smell like Tide. I glance around and identify the source. Drunk as a skunk by the door a large mustached man gently harranging other riders who are trying to laugh him off (not him depicted above, by the time I saw him no drawing opportunity was teneable). Man was swaying in a bad way and I feared a disasterous heave was on the way. Luckily he stumbled (almost tragically) off the Train at Fulton before that could happen, likely to become the problem of an unfortunate car on the A train.
As everyone silently silently let out a collective sigh of relief.