The carriage swayed rhythmically, seemingly by the force of the wind, though they were not in an exposed area. The pitch black of the tunnel and cramped, busy atmosphere made him squirm with discomfort. Feeling short of breath, the man moved his right hand from where it was resting on his lap, up to his throat to loosen his necktie. Four pairs of eyes followed this action. 'It's just because of the sudden movement in such a still, confined space' he reassured himself. Though he knew this was a lie. This was not the first time this had happened; eyes following his hands, muscles tensing in fear, as if waiting for him to strike.
As grateful as he was to the family that so graciously invited him into their home, accepted him as their own, he always wondered; why did it have to be in this city? The most tightly strung, paranoid, biased people all resided in this, the city that never sleeps. The lone figure against a sea of white, his every moved monitored. He glanced down at the newspaper resting on his thighs, and the source of the populace's paranoia was evident. The media fed society all this garbage, teaching them to be wary, covering up that which would give them a bad name.
As the train slowly coasted to a standstill, the man rose and quickly departed from the carriage, glad to be away from the constricting, awkward atmosphere of the train. An almost audible sigh of relief escaped the crowd he was leaving, echoing his thoughts to a tee. Though glad to have escaped them once again, he knew it would all be waiting for him the next morning.