It’s a hazy September evening, the kind where the air is a warm pillow and the day passes slowly, like a wasp drunk on spilled beer. I step onto the busy pavement outside the office, insects trying not to sway into each other’s paths, when I see the top of Tom’s head sticking out of the swarm.
How do you feel when a stranger tells you to smile?
The commuter train is an environment where it is an unspoken rule to remain as quiet as possible. This is a personal essay that looks back on a moment of invaded space on a train, and the lasting affects of the consequences of one individual’s actions upon another.
Eyelashes taped down, eyelids clamped open, vision bathed in a blur of anaesthetic drops; the current situation had quickly escalated the ranks to join the top five most unpleasant moments of my life.