There's a man

on the train who looks just like Sam Eagle from The Muppets Show.

I am perched in my usual spot, the first spot, upstairs at the front of the train. Mr. Eagle Face is across the aisle reading the paper.
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Birdman: There's that chubby girl with the unruly hair. Haven't seen her for a while. Nothing changes. She's still typing loudly on that infernal laptop. Nothing can be so important this early in the morning. Nothing.
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It's just fantastic, rolling outta bed and being at work but this train time was valuable in many ways. You're out of the house. You're with a lot of interesting people.

And you can ignore them completely by writing your blog or sleeping or whatever.
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There was all that same old commuter anxiety this morning: Will I make the train on time? Will the person in line behind me at the ticket counter ever shower? Will the lady in front of me, using multiple credit cards to purchase a single round-trip ticket, ever finish her transaction? Which train is it? Will I get my usual seat? Will I see someone I used to know? Will I remember their name?
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The answers: Yes, probably not, yes, the far one, yes, no, no.
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I am listening to: Train sounds
I am reading: A weak, mindless Carl Hiaasen novel from 1986
And I am: Flying with the Eagle