Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me.
I love your series of train people. The hair-brusher, the Gen Y clone. I used to sit near a man who trimmed his fingernails, oblivious to the fact that the tiny pieces were flying all over us. Another man was always preoccupied with scractching his crotch. But the best of all- one day a man arrived in the train, looking like a drug-wasted homeless lout. But he opened a guitar case and sang us all the way home. He was brilliant. Also brilliant was the way people reacted. Some of us smiled, others got cranky, some concentrated hard on showing that they refused to respond. I can see all my strange travellers from the past sketched out by your clever pencil.
Thanks Rhonda. The train is a constant source of amazement for me.
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