I am here sitting on the train. There are about a dozen people sitting near me. Nobody has said anything to me yet. I don't think anybody will either.
Trains are like that. A machine in which people sit, waiting o be injected back into the world where they live. Because here is like a stasis chamber. A place where time passes with no interaction between the people within it.
The outside world filters past.
I wouldn't mind talking to someone on the train but that isn't a culturally accepted thing to do. Even the ticket man who just went by didn't talk to me. I know the drill. He goes past and continues in his work.
A voice sounds overhead, "Your considerarion for your fellow passengers is appreciated." Its very monotonous.
The outside world filter a past.
The train is a metal tube. I am alone in this crowd. Apart of me cringes at this. Another part likes the solitude.
The voice speaks again, "This station, Kelmscott." I step back into the world.
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