Subway Observations

So much of humanity is defined by its jarring polarization between the comfort in contact and the comfort in distance. Faces are stoic or solemn, mouths either closed in isolation on these lone treks, or agape in a stranger's unconsciousness.
Distance is comforting when it is a possibility, and our only opportunity to delight in our solitude. In this space where persons sit few and far between, we glance and glare at the few others within sight, often out of curiosity and a mediocre paranoia.

I wonder why he's wearing a hoody in this heat...
Geeze, that guy's patriotic!
He looks homeless...do I have change? I don't want to give him my change. What if my cell dies?

And in the morning rush of our working and meandering population, and in the places with the most neon billboards, the metro cars congest like the streets've got the flu. Here, men cop feels (or resist the temptation). This guy is so obviously looking down my shirt, but I don't wanna turn around to see if he's cute or a pervert. Women stare blankly to avoid eye-contact with everyone, and you always stand next to the punk kid with way too much passion for the noise pumping into his ears. Giggles and glares, stoicism and stares.
Here humanity experiences the intimate space and pheramones of complete and utter strangers.
Day after day after day. After night. After alcohol. Too close for comfort?