I remember not too long ago when travelling was a pleasant, social experience. People would dress well for their trip. We smiled sweetly, welcoming new faces as we sat patiently. Idle chit chat was exchanged as travellers grouped and waited together.

These days, people dress more for their comfort. No more small talk as rows of people sit hunched over their phones, zombie like, staring into the screens. No people watching or light exchanges with fellow passengers.

I took a bus home a few days ago and realized the changes first hand.



I entered the bus that was almost filled and took an aisle seat next to a girl slouched by the window.

Her black stretch pants were completely covered in cat hair and lint. Her exposed belly proudly revealed a newly tattooed statement of some belief I imagine, as the greasy plastic wrap slid away to reveal the artwork, inflamed on plump, pasty skin.

Immediately, I could smell her fetid, boozy breath as she tried to sleep off last nights' revelry.

Never once did she look at me. She would only rouse herself each time the Twitter alert went off.
Perhaps her lustful Prince from last night, requesting another magical engagement.

I turned away from this girl, only to see a blistered foot with chipped, cheap polish, propped up against the rail on the other side of me.

Argh.