Day 11

To go on a train is to enter into a world of noise and compression.
The people surrounding you seem unreal, like reflections of statues.
Everyone absorbed by their own thoughts.
Silent ghosts of the underground trapped in a perpetual journey.

You alone are real on this train. You can tell somehow.
Everyone else shimmers slightly but your hands still have that meaty
texture to them.
You ponder talking to these apparitions. What could they tell you?
Would they say nothing? Would they say too much.
These you wonder as you look up to notice a young woman sitting
opposite you staring.

She doesn't shimmer.  She too is real.
Why does this scare you more than the ghosts?
She smiles, her teeth as straight as tombstones and as white as chalk.