It’s Not a Dining Car

The person next to me, got on the train, plunked down in the seat two away from me and started eating Dunkin Donuts’ hash browns, releasing a nauseating odor of grease and potatoes onto what had been a neutral and rather pleasant smelling commute. When they were done with the hash browns they balled up the brown paper bag and shoved it under our seat, picked up their coffee that they had left on the floor, took a drink and then commenced eating two glazed doughnuts, licking their fingers clean after finishing off each chunk they had ripped off. They shoved the empty doughnut bag back into their backpack and settled in to drink their coffee, legs stretched out in front of them and around their bright blue backpack, crossed at the ankle. Heavy black boots, black pants rolled up a couple times, black jacket hanging open to reveal a zipped up dark grey sweatshirt. A scarf with dark colors – grey, blue, green, dark red – shot through with shimmery threads. A black hat with fur lining and earflaps.

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