The Young Commuter

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. That phrase painted a delightful picture of everything he was not. The young commuter was far from sociable this early in the morning. Fresh out of school and immediately into the grind. It hadn't been that long since he started this ritual, but already he felt worn down to the nub, like the eraser on the back of a kinder-gardener's pencil.

After plugging his headphones into his ears, he pulls out a notebook and his ticket, sticking the ticket in the fold where the paper meets the binding. Taking out a pen he pulls his legs up, slumps down and pretends to write something. Its all a front, the notebook, pen, headphones (though they are playing actual music), even the placement of his monthly train pass; its his way of telling everyone "fuck off, I don't want to deal with you,".

He rushes through this daily routine, knowing the sooner he gets everything all prepared the faster, and longer, he can sleep. On a 30 minute train ride, every second of sleep counts.

Today he was lucky. The young commuter had managed to find an empty seat quickly and that let him get everything ready before the train had time to leave the platform. He had his head back and his eyes closed by the time the conductors came around asking for tickets.

Signs were pointing to a promising day.