Afternoon on the 22 Fillmore

She announces her presence in a voice of what I expect would be a sixty year old long time smoker, but she is indeed a sixteen or seventeen year old young woman with a bad haircut and a mouth full of nacho flavored chips pushing her way onto the back of the 22 Fillmore. That nacho odor reminds me of being trapped on a crowded K Ingleside train during my days of bus pass-holding youth, released from another oppressive day of middle schooling and into an equally oppressive bus. As children squeezed into the bus we all realized the air was thick with nacho but it wasn't that appealing cheese whiz odor--something was off. Waiting in the back of the bus were someone's semi-digested 7-11 nachos in a nice pile of yellow and red. Now on the 22 I can only imagine a pile of nacho puke while this teenager chomps away at her chips and I wait for my stop so I can breathe air not saturated with foul smelling memories.