Public morality on the train to Vilafranca.

A young tattooed hard-nut with amphetamine eyes gets on the train at Martorell, sits opposite, and lights up. “Excuse me, you can’t smoke here,” I say, and to my relief he walks away down the train. “Scum!” mutters the woman across the aisle, and after a moment’s reflection takes her feet off the seat.

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