February 3, 2024:
Rude-ass sorority queen with her feet on the seat. Talk, talk, talk, talk into her phone, held horizontal to project her voice into the microphone. Coughing, unmasked; talking talking talking talking: complaints about the stupidity of someone she knows. I had her mother for a roommate once. It ended badly.
Homeless junkie with died blonde dreds, face nodding against a metal handrail, fingers unmoving inside a small opened bag of apple-flavored chips.
"Attention. The train cannot move because a door is open. Please stand clear of the doors, and make sure your items are not blocking the sensor."