They are my only neighbors. I am but a foreign face along for the ride. Three curious strangers strapped together in a can, sweaty arms and tired shoulders pressed together. Three cones of silence. We stare straight ahead. Afraid to make contact, we try to forget the coming hours.  

Their curiosity is hidden. They bury it beneath blankets and muffle it with headphones. Instead of reaching out, they shift inside their own cramped leather boxes. They cross their legs, they scratch their ears, they fail to make a pillow of their own arms. This is how they wait. 

If one was brave enough to speak, they might all share a story. Their shoulders might relax together. Yet, even as they yearn to smile, they wait. He doesn’t want to know me.

When I have done my time, when I have stomached my curiosity, then we stand together. When our time has run out, we run away. Three who sat alone together. Three who shared without knowing. Three who rush away and don’t look back.