The ground stinks of piss in a carriage full of men. Persistent filth and bygone tragedies. There I sat looking to quench a sudden thirst. A belly button stood up to wave a sleeping man goodbye, and for a split second, acknowledges my forceful stare. She walks away, I look away. The carriage moves on. The scent lingers, when I realise the soles of my feet are completely submerged in the shallow puddle of liquid. Images of terror swoop in to catch my every reaction. I would horripilate if not for the hope of departure in seconds more time. To make things worse, a drunkard continually coughs across from where I sat, his face flushed and mildly red, like a clown with no makeup, completely moist but dry. My mind invents horrific ways to distort the image to my liking to no avail, and instead of wanting the urge to assassinate, my agile body quickly reacts jumping at the first possible millisecond the door showed signs of opening. Freedom is the utmost key, and my mind quickly forgot the feeling and moves on. Like a honey badger with absent care.