I have that familiar feeling of being watched. I knew I felt a connection. I am deliberately not looking over in his direction. One hour left. The strange musty scent of the chemicals in my mask mix with my breath, circulating in my nostrils. I saw the type of mask that he was wearing when he got on the train; black, smart. I decide do it, to glance over, smile with my eyes. Take my chance. I flash a grin despite its concealment, toward him. There he is, head rolling on his shoulders, propped in my direction. Fast asleep.
“I write because I am compelled to, and always have been. Getting lost inside stories has always been my favorite thing in the world.” – the writer