“Wait! You can’t put that in writing!”
I looked at the man who’d spent the afternoon making me miserable.
For once, he was the uncomfortable one.
And I wasn’t about to rescue him.
***
I’m Gabby; I’m 28, and I was traveling to my mother’s birthday dinner.
“Wait! You can’t put that in writing!”
I’d booked a window seat on a four-hour train ride because I wanted a quiet afternoon before helping her prepare for the party.
That plan lasted 20 minutes.
The air-conditioning stopped working.
Within minutes, the carriage felt like an oven.
I’d booked a window seat.
People opened water bottles, fanned themselves, and complained about the heat.
Every seat was occupied.
The man beside me sighed loudly.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
I glanced over.
Every seat was occupied.
He was around 40, with a large travel bag wedged beneath his legs.
His ticket had been checked earlier, and I’d heard the conductor call him Lucas.
