The Illustrated Train

When I first moved to the city, I was warned by friends never to stare on the train. If I were alone, my options were to either look at my feet, play on my phone, or read one of the many banner advertisements along the top of the train. For the first few weeks, I read about liposuction, associate degrees and cheap storage space. I tried to busy myself with my phone, pouring over text messages from old boyfriends and adding last names for everyone in my contact list. I shoe gazed. I ceiling gazed. I wore sunglasses.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I stopped caring, but it happened not long after seeing a woman on the train swatting wildly at imaginary birds while another ate what looked to be an entire half a lasagna over someone else’s head. Realizing this was some of the finest people watching the country had to offer, I quickly ditched what was left of my Southern manners and decided that, in the case of an illustrator, staring is caring.

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