Reportage 1, Week 4

On a train car, Bologna-bound, the cart churns and rocks with the sound of tracks meeting high-speed metal. The seats, mostly empty, so that the sounds of progression are the only things filling our ears, almost melodic and rhythmical now, so that some of us allow the noise to lull us toward sleep. In front of me, one of my traveling companions allows his head to fall backwards, stretch along the mouth while his lips form along the trail of his own breath. Something about the slack pull of his jaw reminds me of pillow folds and comforter sets--soft and down. The train makes another stop and moments later a man pulls through: tall, skinny, and a body that bends when he walks. He glances across the empty seats and spots us, me and my friend, and seems to momentarily debate the idea of taking a seat beside us. Instead he chooses the row directly across from us and plops uncomfortably close to a man with three other seats available. He stares, unabashed, into our sleepy faces, seemingly interested in the concept of slumber, as if naps on a train ride are foreign to him. He catches my eye and looks away, instead taking to sidelong glances, the lines along his face creased with curiosity.