Dublin Chronicles
<p>Before the Polish stranger approached me at 1:30am in the morning, when I was sitting alone at Stansted Airport, the quote above was the only thing on my mind. I would remember what happened then as one of the special moments of my Dublin excursion — it was the kind of story that I’d tell my friends when they ask, ‘so, what happened during your trip?’ — but at that point I certainly didn’t feel that way. Gently touching my arms to catch my attention, the Polish stranger pointed his fingers at another person sitting next to me. He accused her of poor manners, for not giving up one of her seats when she was occupying two. I gave the person a glance, but when the Polish stranger started asking me who I was, where I am from, and where I was going, I felt nothing but sympathy for the young girl. Who would want to have someone sit next to you, someone who wanted nothing but your personal details, while leaving you surprised at how bad someone’s breath can smell?</p>
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