There is nothing that I hate more than the strong smell of tobacco except for the strong smell of tobacco combined with a stale alcoholic breath.
As the train approaches the next station I can see him standing there with smoke spewing out of his mouth as he takes his last puff and tosses the cigarette butt to the ground. The last swigs of beers have taken place already, and I hope he won't be sitting in the same train carriage as I.
Bad luck this time around as he gets in and makes a not so grand entrance. Although he plops in the seat at the opposite end of the carriage, it stinks so bad I have to put the back of my hand in front of my nose.
Perhaps I am exaggerating, falling victim to my own neuroses, not wanting to be the person I might have become, but that is just the way I can subconsciously protect myself.