There he is again. Face buried in a book, as usual. I always see him in the train on black 
mornings like this; sometimes we make eye-contact, but it’s always just quick awkward glances. 
I pretend to be looking out the window, but I'm actually staring at him through the reflection. 
Is that sad? Something fascinates me about those sad puppy dog eyes, and the way he's never 
smiling. What's he hiding behind those thick, black glasses? Who the heck does he think he 
is, Buddy Holly? 

He looks up from Don Quixote, and stares out the window. 

But it’s still dark outside; the morning sun is barely showing shades 
of itself far off over the trees. Is he staring at his own reflection? 

Its kind of like watching someone masturbating through an open window; 
slightly disturbing, but altogether impossible to peel your eyes away 
from. I make sure to quickly change my radius of sight—still keeping 
it within view of him. I notice him staring at me, so I look back. He 
digs himself into the book again.

How many months can this silly game go on? 

Is there something wrong with me, or him? 

He lets out a deep sigh, and stares blankly at an advertisement, obviously 
thinking about something else. Then he lethargically puts the book away into 
his bag, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes -— and a cigarette from inside 
that. A red transparent lighter sparks under the florescent bulbs, and the 
train pulls into the next station. A slow inhalation and a thick puff of 
smoke pours forth from his soft, kissable lips. Through spinning clouds of 
smoke he notices me watching him, as he volleys a shy, awkward smile in my 
direction. I give him an equally awkward smile in return, and turn my head 
and look out the window again. There isn't even anything to look at really, 
just darkness and the thought of another horrible day at school. 

The train starts up again, and accelerates through a brightly-lit tunnel.

I watch the lights dance by, and this occupies me until the train finally 
reaches my destination. I get up, and walk to the door of the train. As the 
train begins to slow to a halt, I turn my neck and try to catch the day's 
final glimpse of him. I find that nobody is sitting there, and after all 
these years it finally dawns on me that I've only been staring at myself.