The train was busy.
It always is, at that time, packed with commuters making their way home, some sleeping with their heads against the window, more even standing, eyes downcast and unfocused.
Not her, though. No, she is sitting straight, feet tucked under her seat, eyes wide and alert as she reads something on her phone.
Not him, either. He is standing near the end of the carriage, tucked into the alcove by the internal doors, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning the crowd.
Some people read, some people watch movies on their phone, most day dream – but his favourite train pastime was people watching. That middle aged woman, absent mindedly playing with her keys, from which dangles a frankly ugly string of large wooden beads, checking the time nervously on her phone more and more often as the inevitable delays between each stop accumulate… Clearly a mother on her way to pick up her kids. He scoffs internally – too easy.
What about that man? Youngish, wearing a plain black polo shirt with black trousers, standard hair cut, textbook on his lap and a highlighter in his hand… Slightly harder. Probably a university student, working as a barista or whatnot to make ends meet.