the Train sat in the station for a while. Polka-dot hat was engrossed in Black-berryism, and stayed still for a while. Thanks Polka-dot. Mid way through the trip, the train was flooded with 2nd or 3rd graders from PS something or another. The train went from calm and quite and kind of empty to a ruckus sea of chest high heads bobbing up and down, bouncing off the trains inner obstacles, passengers, rails, protruding seats, like rocks at the bottom of a waterfall, all were brought in to contact via haphazard collision courses, plotted by an odd combination of fate and youthful negotiations with gravity, friction and miscalculated forces.
No seats left unoccupied, some even filled beyond their intended capacity. There were no less the 6 bodies crammed in to the four seats next to me. Even polka-dot hat was mobbed having to shift herself slightly to accommodate her new seat mate (seen out of scale left of polka-dot hat; she got obfuscates quickly by an over bearing very nervous teacher). Shortly after sitting the boy right next to me noticed the drawing and began an epic series of, secret gestures aimed at gaining the attention of his cohorts without alerting me to his actions. I had forgotten how awesome it is to watch children thinking they are being clever. High espionage in progress, the whisper, a dull roar. The hand gesture subtly signaling his team, like an over animated conductor in the final throws of the Ode to Joy. Miss Morris, Miss Morris, I want to be an artist when i grow up, said one. I remember when experiences would solidify my future plans, and like all children of his age it was set… for about 3 minutes until socializing with his crew took over again and all else paled in comparative importance.