Writing on a train
I’m writing this on a train.
I don’t know why I’m writing at this moment.
I’ve only written one thing on medium.
I wrote a story.
It only got one single solitary heart, or whatever you call it.
Point is, it really wasn’t popular.
I was tempted to give up all together and say: “well screw this!”
But for some reason, I didn’t.
Maybe I hoped in vain some pitying person might come round and actually read the shit I wrote.
But, I will not be disheartened.
So, here I am, writing.
The man in front of me talks on his phone. He’s been talking for a while now, about some sort of data company.
The announcer on the train keeps saying “Thank yew!” At the end of each message he leaves.
It’s kinda irritating.
The man opposite me is typing on his white apple laptop.
I hope he doesn’t mind me staring at him.
He’s got a brown leather laptop bag on the seat next to him.
I wonder which animal that was from.
The man seems to be searching some sort of car.
The same red car keeps popping up in the images he scrolls through.
Is it corrupted?!
Anyway, he doesn’t seem fazed by it.
He wears dark blue jeans, his legs spread, taking up two seats and a grey t-shirt hugs his upper figure a little too tightly.
His forehead is creased like a set of narrow stairs. His brown eyes flit around the screen, searching for something. His facial hair makes him seem older than he really is, and serious too.
His back is almost hunched over his laptop, but he’s sitting back too, which I realise doesn’t make much sense. Either way, he has bad posture.
The train stops, and a few more people get on.
It’ll become crowded soon.
Dear god, when the hell does this thing end?