The Commuter Rail

There is no greater cathardic experience than that of sitting on the Commuter Rail. Not.

Currently, the only thing keeping me warm is my laptop burning my thighs, the left of which is starting to go numb.

My love for people-watching grows a bit constrained since the people around me hardly change except, of course, when they leave. There was an awkward, enormous couple gracing me with their presence not so long ago. The man was only capable of bellowing as means to communicate with his girlfriend-type person who was shoveling a bag of something orange, cheesy, and puffy-textured down her gullet. They played a little game of musical chairs that ended up in the train thrashing them from side to side on their way back down the aisle. The bellower then proclaimed, "I HATE WHEN THE DAMN TRAIN MOVES ME. BUT YOU'RE DUMB ASS HAD TO SIT IN THE FRONT." I want to attend their wedding.

Fortunately, the privacy I'm experiencing throughout the duration of the actual train ride is satisfying. This is especially in comparison with my 45 minute wait inside of North Station. I was sitting on a bench, minding my own business, reading my Theatre History notes, when who else but two homeless men sandwich me between their camouflage jackets that wreak of something rotten/smokey/dirty. One of them was doing rated R things to a cheeseburger from McDonalds. The other was putting himself into many ridiculous physical configurations in hopes of finding an adequate nap position.

The silver lining of this entry is simply that I am very fortunate not to have to make this commute every day. I would rather walk around campus, being blown by ferocious winds, slipping on ice, and stepping in puddles rendering my feet too frozen to feel.

Or maybe I could just move to California.