Undercover

This is a post drafted a couple of weeks ago, while I was still doing the commute.

I wonder sometimes, what the people on the trains I take actually do. While there’s some variation on who’s aboard, there’s a very common and consistent cast of characters on each leg of my journey. God only knows what they’re doing.

One fellow, I’ve spent the winter thinking of as “the short dorky one.” He’s white and pretty pale, has darkish-blond with hair that’s seems too long, under 5'6," and wears glasses that are several years behind current styles, his teeth are noticibly in a poor condition. I should also point out that my commute is largely “pre-rush hour,” and that I see this fellow around 6:20 in the morning.

Today, he wasn’t wearing the oversized and a bit more than “slightly worn” jacket and I noticed two things: first he was muscular in a way that suggested he put some time into the appearance and, two his entire right arm was covered by a tattoo. I would have never pegged him as the type, and none of the fantastic stories I would have thought to tell myself about him included either of these details.

Most of the time, my primary reaction to my fellow commuters is annoyance when they won’t stop talking or using their cell phones. Sometimes, I’m just confounded.

Welcome to life.