Real Commuters Blog on the Train, Part 2

It'’s time to get back inside my own head, and take some advantage of my situation. Here I am, on a train full of folks I don’t know, and will rarely ever see again, and probably never be friends with. Time to sketch them for posterity!

I'm parked at the table seat in the center of the upper concourse of the car. The gentleman who just sat down catty corner from me is slightly paunchy with thin hair that's slipping up off his forehead like a hat that's too small, He'’s wearing a plaid button down in a grassy green, tucked into blue jeans that are slung under a considerable beer-style gut. His belt gives me a moment of pause. It’s a black leather belt, but with a double tongued buckle and silver rivets over the holes. It's the same belt my punk girl, super-stylish pal T wears. His gaze over the screen of his laptop is squinty. He's breathing through his mouth a little, parted lips revealing crooked but otherwise inoffensive front teeth. His whole face has a pudgy hangdog look. While his hair is dark, and graying just a little behind his ears, his eyebrows are bushy and ginger colored, and he tucks his chin down contemplating his computer, throwing his double chin into harsh relief. His hands are dry, and he has a peeling cuticle on his left middle finger, but his nails are clean and nicely trimmed.

There's a suburban power couple in the table seat opposite us. The suburban power couple is slightly different from its urban counterpart. Less stage presence, and less glossy finish. She's slim, quietly dressed in a gray suit with a lightweight cabled turtleneck sweater in cream. Her hair is wavy in a structured way, and leans toward dirty blond between highlighting sessions. She purses her lips while she reads. She's reading the Metro. Her shoes border on frumpy, and her glasses, while not unattractive, are plain, and a little librarianesque. She wears little or no makeup, and her skin's in pretty good shape. He’s got a large chin. His hair looks like Steven King's did ten years ago, shaggy and black, salted with gray, and his glasses are a man's version of hers - manbrarianesque? Frameless lenses with brassy earpieces. He’s much more casually dressed, wearing a half zip pullover and fine wale cords in navy blue. Sort of professor-chic. His loafers look like they've been around the block. He's reading a more significant paper. I can't tell if it's the Globe or the NY Times. Definitely not the WSJ. Double income, no kids? Or maybe children old enough to get themselves out the door? They don'’t converse.

We’re gliding along through Wellesley, and I think I'll read for a while.