/lit/ - Literature

I've wanted to write a train story that starts like this for a while. (1/2)

My name is William. I'm 20, and every day I take the train to the big state school at the center of the "metropolitan area", in which I and my family live. I just boarded the train with a couple other guys I know, also students in the city. Theres a hiss, then a jerk, and the train starts moving.

"Look at that guy lmao"

I turn and look at the speaker. I can't always tell these guys apart just by their voices. Its Penny, who's a boy despite the feminine name. He's Chinese or vietnamese or something, and his real name is like pin-pin or pei-pei, but he introduces himself to Americans as just Penny, for our sake.

And yes, he did pronounce "el em ay oh" out loud, one of his several ironic quirks.

Anyway. I look back out the window. There is, in fact, a guy out there. He must be 60, and looks like he's spent the majority of those years working with his hands. He's running (as best he can) with a limp towards the train, waving his arms like he wants it to stop for him.

"Fucking idiot. These trains aren't even staffed anymore. The computer isn't going to see him waving his arms like that"

That was Caesar, the other student that boards at my stop. We three usually sit together in the big booth with the table, objectively the best gig on the train if you can get it before the table's completely soiled and sticky, as it inevitably will be by the end of the day. People spill a lot of drinks on a moving train, or at least that's my theory. I can't otherwise explain the daily stickiness cycle.

"People like that should be put in camps. See how they like it. Racist nazi fucks."

That's Caesar again. I'm not even taken aback. These comments are standard fare, but I can't help but ask him to elaborate.

"What? Why?"

He doesn't answer. He's watching the guy on the platform. The train is speeding up and this old dude hasn't yet accepted his fate. He's running pathetically slow, there's no way he could get on this thing even if it weren't an unstaffed, computerized train. Then all of a sudden, he falls flat on his own face. I crane my neck to see if he's ok, since he's pretty far behind us now. Penny and Caesar both crack up. At this point the guy is tiny in the window but I don't see any sign of him getting up. Now, he's gone, outside the range of my window.

"I know EXACTLY who that guy is. He's a fisher, I've seen him around town. Those fish fuckers are all Portuguese, homophobic shits. They single-handedly voted down Question Three for four years in a row."

(Question 3 is a long running local political issue. I don't dare try to explain what it is, nevermind have an opinion on it)

I rake my hair. Its a stress response that makes me look like a mad scientist or a '60s greaser from the forehead-up, which I hate. I quickly mat it back down to suppress that impression. I can't believe I just watched that fisherman eat shit on the concrete. I can't believe these guys laughed.