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Some guy is talking his head off in the enormous train station (as the pigeons fly by and scrounge for food.)
He doesn't like people. He's fine! But they are disgusting and rude.
I wonder: is he quiet at home? Or is he always talking? Who loves him? Is his house a mess?
He's from here and has never been anywhere, I guess.
Does he know the guy next to him? I wish I were closer. Commuters nervously smirk if they are close enough to understand.
It's hard to imagine him in a quiet place, quietly holding someone's hand.
He's complaining. And we all feel like him. But one cannot say too loud the world's collapsing.
The departure time arrives. The public address system and the pigeons begin to sing.
The commuters move forward without a sound.
