Dream

The older lady next to me is skinny, has light-blue acid-washed jeans, a pleather coat, and dry bleached hair (except for the two inches of roots). My guess would be either a well-kept 67 or a hard-lived 58.

She is inexplicably banging her head in unison with the Pallbearer music in my headphones. Which, I checked, isn't audible outside of my ears. 

In a grocery bag she has a box of FrootLoops she has been snacking out of this whole time. This woman is in her own world and owning it. She is happier than most people on this train.