4:17 PM. Rush hour on the Buenos Aires subway. Someone else’s armpit is in your face. The guy on your left has chosen this moment to eat a sauerkraut sandwich. The guy on your right has chosen this month to go on strike against soap and water. And other unidentifiable odors are wafting around from other identifiable sources.
Oddly enough, it’s all part of the fun of riding the subway. Any subway. Anywhere in the world.