It looks like a human, sounds like a human, but smells like the toilet floor of someone who didn’t have time to make it to the bowl.

You know what's absolutely delightful during Summer in Melbourne?

Trams.

And people.

Trams and people really do make for a winning combination any time of year, but in Summer especially.

I don't know about you, but I take great joy in the anticipated excitement of discarding all familiar notions of personal space each time I step onto public transport.

There's nothing quite like feeling a large woman's larger breasts warm your now very well cushioned torso while her breath beams down upon you with the strength of an industrial vacuum cleaner working in reverse; your hair swooshing with the vibration of her steady exhaling, the whistle of air tunneling through her oversized nostrils bringing a musty puff to your face.

And amidst all this pleasantness, you experience the attack of a surely toxic potion of sour and arid perspiration intermingled with dried urine and garlic, lots of garlic.

Air.

You need air.

But there is none of it. All there is, is the unrelenting stench of despair from the unhappy souls that surround you.

Such was the amorous reverie I found myself engulfed in just the other day when two women pushed their way onto an already overcrowded tram causing me to become, for a few short moments (read: for several lifetimes), one with the odour that leapt from some public toilet floor into the stomach of one of them and then out of her flaring nostrils onto my cringing face.

Gleeko