There’s always a philanthropist. Who gives away his seats. Then his offer gets rejected. And another arbitrary opportunist capitalizes. And he stands sour faced, sad from donating to the wrong charity. It’s as if, charity for him, began at his neighbor’s home.
But the most annoying species are perhaps the callers. They call and they talk. They talk about their feelings, they mockingly gossip about others feelings and then they sympathize with similar feelings of the person scamming away precious time from the other end of the mobile device.
It might seem insignificant, but there’s also me. Someone who sees. And complains but quietly. Someone who looks, at times criticizes, at times gets jealous, and then criticizes, but does that quietly. Not quite because, he, that is, I, is, I mean, am an angel or anything, but more so because, I don’t really have another mind who would receive my thoughts without further complaints. There seems to be an absence of another brain calibrated to my own.
I made it that way. I could have chosen otherwise, but I failed to and now I come up with reasons that justify the failure.
Describing the people who take the metro often obliterates the inanimate stuff hiding in plain sight inside a metro. And those include, the seats, the windows, those weirdly shaped things for holding on which prevents you from tumbling over when the metro accelerates, the phones (some argue that the phones aren’t inanimate and that they should not be considered to be separate entities for they are the parts of the humans they are carried by and I agree with such people), so cancel out phones from this list, insert the bags and finally the doors.
Oh, the sliding doors. You are warned not to stand in front of them for they can open suddenly without a warning and yet people choose to camp right beside them. They make those doors the basis of their physical, mental, emotional, spiritual and god knows what other types of support. They love the door. And they are not embarrassed to display their affection. And why should they be? For afterall, it is those doors that allow them to exit the metro and enter another one should they fancy doing so. These doors, as I’ve been led to believe, are the sole testaments to the destination being more enjoyable than the journey.