Tall men, short men, men with grey hair, men with no hair, men with a headful of hair, men wearing glasses, men with bare eyes, men.
A boy with thick glasses presses the folds of a paper; his hair is touched with grey.
A girl with bangs. Hippie flower child. Tall. Lean. Blissed out.
Mouth set in a slight scowl. Doesn’t smile often. His eyes scan the paper.
Men with bags, men clean shaved, men holding paper, men with cellphones, men with earphones, men.
A woman laughs.
She shakes as she laughs, a red stole carelessly thrown over her shoulder.
Men wearing sports shoes, men with unkept feet, men staring blankly, men on the phone, men forming soundless words, men.
A voice: Tell me your number.
He looks up, eyes dazed and unfocused, a slight squint, glasses of little help.
The train slows down, falling to a stop with a long wheeze. The speckled blue floor is muffled by rushing feet.
© Anuradha Prasad, 2017