Staring at Subway Shoes

The girl sitting across from me wears orange rainboots with tiny white dots. She is writing in a journal too. About me? Hardly. Not with that serious look on her face.

Often I look only at the shoes and pant legs of my fellow passengers. Round, black-suede toes curtained by cuffed, frayed jeans replace the orange rainboots. Could be male or female, but I sense female.

The best thing about the last car of the train is that people mostly get off, not on. By the time I'm near my stop, only one or two people remain on with me. I don't like being with just one other person. I feel more comfortable with two others, or no one at all.