I watched couple after couple pile into the train car, drunk, slurring their speech, and laughing the kind of laugh that includes spit leaving ones mouth at a speed and trajectory that could only be described as miraculous. I wanted to put my headphones on, drown them out, and stop listening to the recap of the night even though the night hasn't ended yet. And isn't that the thing about being drunk, on a train, waiting to get home to hook-up with who decided to come home with you or to sneak back into your home so your wife or girlfriend won't know what you just spent your night doing so you recap the night over and over and over again. That's what was happening. The constant voices, the cacophony of laughter, and the sudden saliva-rain that was spilling over the back of my head as these young men and women remembered how "Jim was so wasted" and how "Rachel was being a total bitch". I wanted to hate these people. I wanted to dislike the men in their tight, slim fit, navy blue suits, and the women in their flowery, skin-tight dresses, their heels that made them hobble up and down and up and down the aisle in a way that reminded me of videos of penguins falling over on ice. I wanted to judge them. But I couldn't. I was the one sweating through my shirt, trying to make sure I wasn't the one that contributed the awful smell of a tired body to the train car. I wanted them to shut up, you know? I just wanted to get some sleep. I had a long goddamn day and the last thing I wanted to deal with was a bunch of young adults being young adults. Maybe I'm a cynic. Maybe I'm self-centered. I don't know. Do I even care? What does it matter? They will always be on these trains and there will always be a man or a woman, sitting alone with broken headphones wishing and praying and hoping that everyone younger than them would shut their mouths.