I board the carriage, the rush of the train hitting me as I carry my heavy Santa-esque load on my back and through the hoards and throngs.
These random individuals most of whom haven't had great years and have no doubt taken it on others all vie for the first available seat on the train. Their eyes scout the room, quickly darting about as if they were a cat stalking its prey. A tongue juts out quickly and VOOM!- a seat is stolen and the person is reacquainting themselves with some estranged element of comfort gone missing in a world of hustle & bustle.
I board with my oversized luggage: I swear it weighs a ton. At least a metric ton, that much I am sure of!
In this time and in this season, the droves are dwindling and becoming dampened by the decaying sense of job morality. With the decline of an industry, more and more are coming less and less, starting their vacations early while their workplace starts to leak blood without the chance for an infusion.
"Get the kids," shouts the fifty-something investment banker, a man unsure about even his own investments at present time. He'll take his little boy and two half-grown up women, his wife, pet rock, & the dog and then just go. Away. Away from this, the mess; away from anything resembling anything that doesn't resemble Christmas.
As I push my way into the carriage, the loads of thoughts, dreams, distant memories once thought shattered but found again one listless cold morning, as I make my way into the train I see all of this in the glint of an eye.
I push my way in and sit on the last bite-sized chunk of a seat left over, my pants barely finding their way into a crevice left by the cruel bastard next to me sitting smug and cool with his classic sunglasses and pretentious smile.
As my backside settles in, a cardboard coffee cup shuffles it's way out from the side spreading good will & cheer on a message on the cup and spreading cheap milky brown liquid burned from some cheap espresso joint all over my freshly dry-cleaned red velvet lined pants.
I look down at the cup, now hitting the floor and staining my sackbackpack.
"Fuck," I grumble. The noise startled even the iPod earbud passenger dressed in a small sense of naivety with but a hint of Christmas cheer in the shape of a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Rei deer resting against her collar bone with a thin gold chain passed through it.
I smile the sort of smile that warns people off, looking at the messy residue all over my delicate fabric.
Right. That's the last time Santa ever takes public transport.