A Stop for Thousands
A briefcase in hand, he gets up. A long line of passengers standing, still some packed in their seats. Hearing tunneled, a calm hissing ensues. The overall babble exists but everything is amiss as it reaches the ears.
"The next station is in 15 minutes."
Commotion in front. A binder on the floor, pages pummeled by passengers in transit. A girl standing as the current flows. The tree pushed as the tide moves. Unfazed, she holds as the lane surges.
Elbows collide, unseeing reflex. He doesn't look. The corridor arrives and the continuous batter has made him ragged.
The time is there.
He rushes to the restroom. The door closes.
Something so peaceful, even though a stop for thousands. The faucet and sink at front, briefcase on the ground. The train shakes as the platform has arrived.
Soap, water, lather.
A routine.
The announcement muffled through the door. He notices the time, knows he should move, but the body is mid-ritual. The loss of control, the mind keeps going back to that aisle.
The hands keep washing.
A knock.
"Sir."
"One moment. Almost done."
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An act of self-preservation in the face of the unstoppable flow, the eternal monotony. Or meditative hand washing, mindfulness exercise. Or cleanliness above all else, top priority. Or embarrassment—only here can I hide from the world for a moment... ;-))
There was nothing to go by, so all of the above.
hehe