There’s Sad Mister Ponytail. Hairline beating a middle-aged retreat in front, sorry graying squiggle in the back. Every day, in all weathers, he wears a leather vest and cowboy boots for the trip downtown. What kind of job might he have?
Miss Pink Pen Sudoku occupies the station’s sole bench, her feet neatly side-by-side. Once aboard the train, she will pull out pen and puzzle as soon as she is situated in her seat. The pensive manner in which she bites her bottom lip can appear quite fetching if one is in the right mood.
Already on the train, having boarded a stop earlier, is Flippy the Newspaper Man. If one has no choice but to sit next to him, be prepared for a continually intruding elbow in your personal space as he opens, crinkles, creases, flips, folds, and reads, then repeats the actions for each newspaper page.
Miss Bubonic Plague 1956 wears her silver hair in a blunt helmet cut. She’s the first to shush any occasional rider who unknowingly speaks in the Quiet Ride car, but will often regale her fellow passengers afterward with loud coughing jags that have been timed for as long as nine minutes.
But the one I worry about most is the tall melancholic fellow who each day averts his eyes as the train (which is an express) rushes past the station where you told him your last big lie. What name, I wonder, should we give to him?