The man walks into the El car, packed backpack on, carrying loose papers and a folder and gazes lazily yet anxiously for an available seat. He glances at a couple free seats next to people. What else. He strains his eyes to view the back area of his section, his randomly chosen 30 minute residence. Ah there is one. A free seat next to another free seat. Two equals one for this lone traveler. Sitting down, he zips open his always muddy JanSport backpack and begins to unravel the only real moment to exist on this train.
An observer watches this man stuff his contents into the pack. The man fumbles with his laptop and takes out a binder to find room. Yet still the space is inadequate. Now he places both arms in the pack with his head down as he scavenges the static material like more space is only a matter of time. No luck. The man, still bent over, casually adjusts a folder or two in the bag. This is simply a rearrangement and does not produce ample space for the papers. An observer is glued to this frustrating act.
The man continues to pass his ride with tiny actions to fit and cram and push that day’s nonsense into his backpack. His recently clipped fingernails punish his hygiene with soreness each time he plunges an arm to settle contents. Each jerk and inconsistency of his train slows the process.
Finally the JanSport is burdened with all the day’s work. Stuffed to the brim with paper. But the man can at last zip up and lean back. His simultaneous exhale and drooping shoulders punctuates the commuter’s angst.
The train screeches to a halt at Belmont station and the observer takes one last glance at her cluttered partner in this stressful dream before stepping off to observe novel clutter.