This morning I got on what’s becoming the chronically late 8:47 commuter rail out of Framingham for Boston. Feeling lucky because I got an aisle seat. As the train leaves the station the man behind me starts talking in a loud, penetrating voice, in a cadence that is as jerky as the train. He starts by asking someone if he wears a hearing aid, then says he does, too. Ah, I think, conjuring up some sympathy, that’s why his voice is so loud. He goes on to say he was in Vietnam and a shell exploded nearby. More sympathy. But as we head towards West Natick, he launches into religion, and Jesus. Between West Natick and Natick he relates a story of a holdup in a New Hampshire store, where the robber gunned down three people. Enough, I think, I’m not going to listen to this all the way into Boston. When the train pulled into Natick I got up to find a better seat. The man was sitting alone, intently leaning into the vacant space next to him.
Sad, so sad. I hope there was someone meeting him at the end of the line.
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