The train is full of strangers

I am not looking at them yetI know they are there
Bodies pressed close to mine
Eyes closed I breath in their lives

Old leather shoes, perfume, hair gel and peach lotion

The stranger in front of me smells of a wet January afternoon
Cold and sharp, yet with a familiar damp mustiness that lingers in his absence
To his left is an early morning breakfast smell
Oatmeal and sugar
Brown sugar with heavy caramel undertones that melt into the memory

He steps past Wet January, past Hair Salon and steps off
Wet January follows on his heels while Hair Salon remains , now on my right

We are joined by English Sitting Room, he is made of cigar smoke and wooden matches, leather arm chair and stone fireplace, beside him is Darkened Movie Theatre and Old Gym Bag

Everyone shuffles; hive minded away from Old Gym Bag
Hair Salon is muttering.
English Sitting Room rustles a newspaper
Movie Theatre brushes my shoulder, apologizes and disappears.

I wish, vaguely to ask what I might seem to them in my own internal context if only to satisfy the slow bubbling curiosity that wells up in me from some deep hidden place

But my stop has come and I am stepping off now
Knowing my existence will pass silently from their thoughts all together as soon as the doors close behind me

Goodbye Hair Salon and English Sitting Room
Farewell Old Gym Bag, until next we meet if ever again