“There he is again, that stinky old man,” she thought as she walked past the bus stop on the way to school. “He sits there almost every day with his stinky paper bag with God knows what inside, clenched in his hand. Stinky old man.”
He smiles at her as she walks by, nodding his head in greeting. She returns the smile and then grimaces when she’s sure he can’t see her face.
“Yuck,” she thinks. “Why am I always polite to that stinky old man? Must be proper upbringing.” She quickens her pace and shivers.”