Handsome Harry Hanner hustled to catch the evening 5:45 pm to Harvard Hill. He used to look forward to his relaxing, respectful, restful train ride after a demanding, draining day at the office. He appreciated the time to enjoy pleasing, peaceful reveries, rolling past like favorite old movies. But no more can this be his pliant pleasure; today’s trains are turned chaotic by many blatantly, bombastic passengers.  Recognized regard for fellow travelers has long since passed with the coming of the me-first, consistent, creepy, callousness of the cellphone crowd. Where one, in times past, could ponder and plan his work or fun on his way home in silent solitude. Today, that is no longer the case; there is no more quixotic quiet. Instead today, avalanches of slinging words binging and banging around the car, combined with revolting, repulsive, repeating ring tones merging with ever rising cacophonic conversations, drowning out the once hypnotic, harmonizing of the faithful clicky-clack, clicky-clack, the melodious music of the wheels rolling along the tracks. Those rambling, rambunctious, chattering tongues never seem to stop their hammering, yammering hum.
 
Handsome Harry would like to shout to the scurrilous, supercilious, madding mob that he doesn’t give a ding, dong, damn that auntie’s little niece is so cuddly cute when she drools, dribbles and blows bubbles in her high-chair. Neither does he care about that woeful woman’s crazy, cheating husband cuddling with his new girlfriend a calculating, conceded, cocky, cocktail waitress.
 
Harry is just so tired of the fetid, frivolous, babble bouncing off the railroad car’s windows and walls. He feels as if he’s caught under a spilling, chilling, drenching, incensing waterfall of waggish words. His thought, I can hardly wait to get off this blasted, bloody, railroad car. Then his cellphone sounded his favorite song.