Ah the joys of public transportation

Don't you just hate it when you have to sit through an entire train ride with an old man sitting across from you trying not to stare at your face. You know he's looking and he gives you sympathetic smiles because he's thinking to himself if I could only speak to her, if social norms didn't prohibit talking to strangers on the train, I'd tell her that it gets better. That it's not the end. That there is light at the end of the tunnel. And the young hip chick with her fake Prada bag and torn stockings sucking on the tonsils of her greasy goth boyfriend looks at your oversized sweater and puffy eyes and unkempt hair and knows you're listening to the blues with a one way ticket to heartbreak hotel. I'm better than you, she's thinking. I have a man. Watch me investigate the innards of his throat.