22 & not a clue

She had the kind of beauty that doesn't need or ask for make up. Three small brown moles on her wrists which were slender with thin brown hair which caught the light - perhaps she had been in the sun recently. Her long legs were folded under her, she sat on the tube as if they were on a sofa. She leant against a thick browed man who appeared to be miles away.

Every few seconds her head would lift up and she would stare at him and say something with a smile on her lips. He would nod and continue to stare off. The smile would leave the corner of her mouth and thin lines appeared across her forehead. Digging around in her handbag she produced a note and laughed, showing it to him. He eventually turned and looked at the note, his eyes moved upwards and finally met hers which were dancing in a beguiling way.

A slow and uncertain smile made its way across his swarthy face, catching the shadows from his facial hair. His back softened and he seemed to lean in towards her smile. She leant her head again on his shoulder. He lifted one hairy paw and stroked a few brown strands across her face, tucking them behind her ear and then stroking her neck.

She smiled.

'A pound for a cuppa tea love, just a cuppa tea, I'm homeless and cold.'
'That's a good wardrobe for a homeless person'.
'Just a pound, it's a cold day and I've been outside all night.'
She strides on past, he lifts his cap and wipes his brow, swaying on into the path of the next on-comer on the street.
'Have you got a pound for a cuppa tea mate?'
'Sorry mate I 'aven't.'
Just a cup of tea, just something warm in his belly. He clutches the bagel and leans against the bakery window. Thank god for the Polish baker who gave it to him. The jeans are only washed because a woman gave him money to go to the laundrette. His jacket is only clean because it's inside out. But people see what they want to see.
It's not even 10am and there's a drizzle. There's a hole in either corner of his plastic bag, god knows what he carries with him.

The man with the Big Issue gives him a fag and a light and he puffs, staring towards the park and wondering if he'll have more luck with the pram pushers. The runners don't hear as they gallop past. He thinks of his kids and tries his luck again, lurching forward at another woman and asks;
'Pound for a cuppa tea love? Just a cuppa tea?'
She sniffs and strides on.

The morning commute is never a pleasure. It is to most, a dreaded part of the 9-5 routine. Although let's face it, it's more like 6:30-6:30 by the time you factor in the shower, lunch, morning tea & on the other end the bread & milk you forgot at lunch. Bugger.

I plug out. I find man kind is much more enjoyable to be around if I just don't engage. So I am unfortunately that girl on the tram with earphones in and a calm look on her face which just doesn't make sense for this time of day.
The truth is the commute is where I get most of my inspiration from.
I look at people. I am that creep. I am stealing details about you and learning about you. So much so that people no longer appreciate just how much can be learnt about them from a single glance.

It is possibly one of the few perks of being tall that I tower over most on public transport. It means I see things others don't. Like the girl who stood in front of me this morning, though immaculately groomed, had evidently stopped using ear buds years ago. The middle aged woman to my left had put her earring on backwards, how? And the elderly gent on my right had ripped a button off his collar. Does he have no one to sew it back on?

Yesterday on a tram a woman in front of me was reading a pamphlet on pregnancy. She could only be in her first trimester. Another woman, heavily pregnant then sat down next to her opposite me. I had this wonderful moment of life in motion before me.
And yet the two did not speak. The heavily pregnant woman glanced at the pamphlet, then at the woman's stomach and then hugged her handbag closer.
I don't know her story, but surely something could have been said, a connection or shared moment where the two acknowledge their achievement and position in life.
I sat across from them both and wondered how did you both get here? And why doesn't this unite you rather than leave you silent and indifferent?
I know I am a hypocrite here as I choose to tune out to morning commuter life. But it leaves me free to voyeur, to watch as the world spins madly on and we do and say nothing in its wake.
Why won't people reach out? Why don't we smile and share together. A stranger is only so until you speak.

I read the Mx everyday after work & the section 'Vent Your Spleen' is filled with angry commuters voicing their disdain for others. Everyone is indignant about the lack of consideration from others. Few give each other the benefit of the doubt or wonder how things have come to be for that person.
Maybe it's the writer in me, but I feel that as man kind progresses we are losing our ability to empathise or care.

Consider for a moment the attractive man or woman you saw last on public transport. You were interested, intrigued and wondered how their path had come to cross with yours. Where is that curiosity with everyone else? I'm not saying stare inquisitively at every other person like a weirdo, I'm saying have compassion.
Move over on the tram and don't be so awkward, don't throw such scornful looks because someone has pushed onto the train.

They are simply another A getting to another B. Just like you.