Gracious, he gave up his seat for a young woman in heels with a large bag. Stylish peacoat, red and black scarf tucked neatly under the collar, a red and white button up shirt with a dot or stripe pattern.

He’s reading a book, holding onto the rail in front of him with the tips of three fingers – his thumb, pointer, and middle finger – knuckles pushed out. Clean-shaven, his dark brown hair combed to the left. His face isn’t narrow nor can it be called angular, but his cheekbones stand out above his cheeks and his brow is pronounced, but not overly so.

His ears are proportional although with his short hair and lack of facial hair they stick out a little and look rather vulnerable. The top-most button of his shirt is undone and his briefcase/computer case is held in front of him, the strap coming down over his left shoulder.

He sits down after the train mostly empties out, head bowed over his book again, the cover curled around the back of the book, his right thumb resting in the middle of the page. When he turns the paper he lifts the book up at a 45 degree angle, rubbing at the corner of his right eye, most likely to dislodge a piece of sleep he missed, he does the same to his left eye.

He picks at his right thumb nail, idly runs his fingers down the left side of his face, rubs at his nose and then traces his thumb and index finger in a circle around d his mouth as though stroking an imaginary moustache. Both fingers start at the bow of his lips, spread out and away from each other down the sensitive skin of his upper lip and then come back together underneath his bottom lip. He folds the cover back under the book and continues on reading without interruption.