Eco-fascist nightmare

The tourists, mostly from China, watched with fascination as the British pedalled their bicycles around Trafalgar square, red-faced with exertion. Most of them looked away when a tourist tried to take their photo, but some looked at the cameras expressionlessly.   
“I suppose that’s the way the Chinese looked at us, when we tried to take a photograph of them cycling,” said a voice from behind her.
“Pardon me?”
“In China, during the chairman Mao era, when everyone rode around on bicycles. You’re American?”, he added.
“Yes.”
Suddenly, inexplicably, he inhaled noisily through his nasal passages. For a moment he retained  the air that he had inhaled, as if he had just snorted a glass of fine vintage wine and was savouring its bouquet. Finally, reluctantly, he exhaled.
“Are you ok? I mean, do you have a condition?” she asked.
“Condition?”
“I just thought - I just thought maybe you have a breathing problem. I trained as a nurse, so if you do have a breathing pro-.”
“My dear, I appreciate your concern but I assure you that the only breathing problem I have is a surfeit of pleasure.”
“Oh, really?”
He nodded and performed another appreciative nasal inhalation. “I just can’t get enough of this air.

A cyclist - a middle-aged man in a business suit with a rucksack on his back - braked noisily nearby and leaned over the handlebars, panting for breath. A Chinese tourist moved towards him interestedly, his camera raised.
“It looks as if he can’t get enough of it either”, she said without thinking. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply - ”
But he’d gone. He was standing in front of the tourist, showing him something - a card or ID badge maybe, and was blocking his view of the exhausted cyclst. The tourist put down his camera and obediently moved away.
“Your problem, young lady - is that you’re in eco-denial,” he said sternly when he returned. 
“Oh my God - is that bad?”
“It’s bad but  - ” he started to say, in a strange nasal tone. But it was too late, he was inhaling again, this time with his eyes closed.
Quietly she drifted away from him, and went to the businessman. “Are you ok now?” He looked up at her from the handlebars and glanced nervously at her adviser, who had opened his eyes and was watching them intently.
When he answered it was in a strange monotonous tone, as if he were reciting something - a prayer or litany, or a political litany:  “My dear, I appreciate your concern but I assure you that the only breathing problem I have is a surfeit of pleasure”, he wheezed exhaustedly.Click here to take advantage of an easy to use and highly credible software programme that will quickly help you start – and finish - writing your novel