THE STINK

I'd been standing at the stop for fifteen minutes, so the sight of the approaching tram brought me nothing but satisfaction. The red carriages were slowing, and the faces of the people inside them were passing by ever more slowly. It was impossible to miss him. He was sitting at the front of the carriage. His beaten face, plastered to the window, immediately caught my eye. The tram stopped, and the doors opened. I sat at the back, as usual. I immediately detected an unsettling smell. I looked around and saw the shrunken figure whose face I'd just glimpsed. He was sitting about twenty feet in front of me. When I realized where the smell was coming from, for some unknown reason, it became even more intense. The tram moved. The air from the front of the train, thanks to the open window, was now beside me. The stench was growing stronger with each passing moment. I felt nauseous. Like an idiot, I tried to breathe more slowly, to inhale as little of the rottenness as possible. Of course, the effect was the opposite. And so we all arrived, us from the world smelling of advertised soap and him with his penetrating scent, at the next stop.

Olive oil, the loop.

New figures appeared on the tram. Unaware, they took seats next to the bum. They quickly realized something was wrong. Like me, they began to look around, and only when they saw the source of the stench did their faces change. Their reactions varied. Some wore a contemptuous smile, like when examining a friend's shoe that had just stepped in shit. Some were utterly disgusted, their eyes filled with revulsion. Only a few seemed to ignore it. I don't know why. Maybe they were simply ashamed to show their feelings, or maybe they simply had a cold.

A few seconds passed, and the tram moved on. The first few people relented. They looked around and, seeing still empty seats further down the carriage, immediately transferred. It was a joyful experience. It was a bit like a kindergarten game. I don't know if I remember correctly, but I think it was called "rental cells." I felt a bit embarrassed, but I was glad I wasn't in their shoes and didn't have to do any gymnastics.

Old Oliwa

A place where mostly grandmothers and juveniles boarded. Only an elderly woman with the obligatory beret on her head boarded. Her misfortune was that she boarded first, where the stench was at its height. Despite her advanced age, her sense of smell was apparently quite keen. As soon as she passed him, she immediately turned on her heel and rushed to the door, which was already closed. She leaned against it and waited for it to open again. A distinct grimace appeared on her face, which grew redder with each passing moment. She looked as if she were holding her breath. Finally, she finally made it, jumped off the tram, and took a deep breath. Her thick legs ran in small steps toward the next car. Relief was evident on her face. This was probably the first time she had run since the days when they abandoned sausages at the butcher's during the communist era. These weren't cell phones for rent anymore; this was some exotic version of tag.

In

her place, high school students appeared at the door. Guys in baggy trousers and their friends with plastic bags. One of the scoundrels, after a few meaningful, shared glances, burst out laughing. The high school student, playing tough, leaned over him and took a spectacular breath. He began to cough and laugh alternately. The girls appreciated the feat and started laughing too, though, as befits girls from respectable families, they did it much more subtly. I got a little angry. That was a bit of an exaggeration. It was one thing to watch and laugh quietly, so no one could see.

The back of the tram was getting increasingly crowded. But at the front, there was still only him and his stench, which didn't seem to leave him. Such a perfect duo, a hardcore way to combat loneliness.

I wondered if he was making contact. I wondered if he knew he was hitting harder than a week-old carcass. Perhaps, fortunately, he'd gotten drunk as usual and didn't see all those disgusted faces, that contempt he'd probably grown accustomed to anyway. He sat still, oblivious to his surroundings. I felt a little sorry for him, yet I eagerly awaited the next stop and the next victims.

The university.

Some students appeared on the tram. One of them, ignoring the stench, sat down in front of him. It was obvious he didn't have a cold. He only fidgeted, turning his head slightly every now and then, but still sat firmly. I felt foolish again. But it was bearable; it was a matter of attitude and perception. Some people looked at the student as a hero, and they felt foolish too. They saw their own thoughts, which didn't bring them joy. For others, however, it provoked even greater amusement. They looked at the boy as an imbecile, a brave idiot who had decided not to show his contempt.

The tram depot.

At the stop, I immediately saw the familiar faces of the Canary Islanders. They always board here. They boarded at the end and started checking tickets. They were surprised by what they saw: the end of the tram was already slightly crowded and the front seats were empty. They didn't quite understand what was going on. However, they quickly realized it when they approached him. They immediately lost interest in checking tickets. They also gave up on the student. I hoped he didn't have a ticket and had just saved up money for a few parties. A little gift from fate for a kind soul.

I was starting to get bored. Some old puffball was still standing over me, trying to let me know he wanted to sit down. But I pretended not to see her. Why should I give her a seat when there were still empty seats?

Resurrection

. No one got on. A few people got off, though. I started to stare at them. They looked strange; at first, they turned around and quickly walked away from the door. They were glad it was over, that they didn't have to smell it anymore.

Suddenly, the homeless man stood up. We were all terrified. We thought he was about to come towards us. Those standing there began to move in the opposite direction. They acted as if they were facing a suicide bomber about to detonate a device. But as soon as his shrunken frame straightened, he collapsed. Like the others, I was in shock. Now everyone was looking at him. No one knew if he'd simply gotten so drunk and fallen, or if something more serious had happened to him. This lasted a few seconds, then we started turning away, trying to avoid seeing him. We pretended he wasn't there. We'd have liked to run away, leaving him lying there. But our curiosity still compelled us to glance at him every now and then. He still lay motionless. The more sensitive ones had pulled out their phones and were probably calling 911. The smiles disappeared from everyone's faces, replaced by confusion. The guy was probably dying, and all we could manage were these pathetic expressions. I looked at the student. The boy was clearly hesitant. He turned helplessly towards him. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up and approached him. He knelt down and tried to check his pulse. I immediately noticed he was completely unfamiliar with the subject, yet I was afraid to speak. A look of disgust crossed the student's face. However, he overcame his inner resistance and pinched his nose with his fingers. With his other hand, he opened his mouth and began CPR. I don't know how he managed it. Everyone was still just staring furtively at the scene. No one said anything, no one laughed anymore. When the boy took his first breath, I knew nothing good would come of it. His chest didn't move, but his stomach rose. He was pumping his stomach! I still didn't say a word. The student took further breaths in the same clumsy manner. I didn't want to watch; I knew how it would end. Poor student, after this incident, he'll probably sign up for a first aid course immediately. Finally, I looked at them. At that very moment, the inevitable happened. The homeless man retaliated with the entire contents of his stomach, vomiting directly into his mouth. The boy, who had been the only member of the tram community who hadn't shown any disgust until then, grimaced and then spat the entire contents of his mouth onto the floor. The disgust now exceeded the passengers' limits. They began to reveal their inner selves in the form of their own vomit. The crowded tram meant they shared their digested meals with each other. Their sterility was brutally violated by Mother Nature. They became victims of their own revulsion. They no longer had any desire to look at the old bum and the puddle lying beside him. His death faded into the background; they could no longer smell his stench. I got the brunt of it too. The old woman standing over me decided to repay me for my discourtesy, and remnants of her retirement dinner appeared on my jacket. But that wasn't what caught my attention the most. I sawThe homeless man stood up. I breathed a sigh of relief; he was simply completely drunk, nothing out of the ordinary. I was glad he was alive, though I was more pleased that I didn't have to feel guilty about his death. I felt most sorry for the student, who would surely think twice before trying to resuscitate someone next time. The boy stood up with the homeless man, ostentatiously patted him on the shoulder, and looked in our direction. What he saw made him laugh, he shot a sneer, and proudly sat down in his seat. Among the passengers, no one seemed to notice the miraculous resurrection, no one was happy that nothing terrible had happened to him. Everyone, with enormous grimaces, just stared at their shabby clothes. Their disgust was now incomparable to the one on their faces when they boarded the tram. Now they were the ones who stank.

Grunwaldzka Street

. I got off the tram. I couldn't stand the stench of vomit any longer. I thought that as soon as I left the carriage, I'd feel the fresh air. I decided to walk further. But the stench persisted. My clothes, my hair, my thoughts, contempt... everything. I felt terrible.