Hardcore Traveling - Continued

The Little Vomiting Bastard

Two days ago, after spending the night in a town who's name I am unfamiliar with, in a decent hotel with an Indian man in his forties, I made my wa-
What?!
Oh, you're right, it really doesn't sound very good; let me explain first - the Indian is a business man I met on the bus from another town (once again, clueless as to what that town's name is), we befriended each-other on the bus (with Hindi as the ice breaker) and we both needed a room. So instead of having each of us pay an exorbitant fee for a single room, we shared the cost of the exorbitant fee, thus transforming it to an affordable fee, and took a double room together.

...He's got two kids and a wife...
Now can I get back to the story? ...
Thank you...

After saying goodbye to the Indian businessman, I made my way to Kodaikanal - a hill station ensconced about 2,000 meters above sea level, with a bus as my mode of transportation, in order to escape the offensive, atrocious, mind bogging, insanity insinuating heat of the Tamil Nadu flatlands.

In the bus, on the way, something happened. Something unpleasant. Something you've probably figured out if you've taken the time to read the title.

The bus was leisurely taking a bend, I was admiring the lush scenery opening up, enjoying some quality music through my exuberant Sennheiser headphones, when he did it.
The little shit opened his mouth and vomited not only on my leg and lower pant, but because he had his hand covering his mouth, he somehow managed to alter the trajectory of one small rivulet of puke, and hit the upper torso and right arm of the woman sitting in front of me (an impressive feat).
Which, and I know that this is an evil thing to say, I'm glad he did, because it diminished my discomfort by quite a bit.
I mean sure, getting bile and samosa leftovers on your sandal is unpleasant, and yes, producing a squishy sound every time you step is not what I'd call a great thing, but she got it all over her shirt! And on her bare arm!

Anyway, I did something I'm proud of then. Something that made me feel quite chuffed. In my water bottle, I had less than about a cup's worth of water left. So, instead of trying to get that ridiculously sticky piece of bile off of my foot, I gallantly offered the precious remainder of my water to the woman in front of me (in her fifties probably), who, with a chummy wag of her head, accepted it and removed the foul smelling chunks of half digested samosa from her forearm and upper torso.

I did not have any water left to wash away the vomit covering my sandal and leg, and had to wait till our next tea stop to wash it off, but I was content.