This entry could also be titled “Why the Minister of Transport should commute” or “Why I need a car” or “Why I should work within walking distance to my home”.
Commute. Body bumping and rubbing against me. I want to stab the woman behind me with a fork. Stab her in the eyes. Stab her in the kidneys. Stab her in the lungs. Grab her by the hair. Throw her against the window. Break her nose, tear her lips, watch a bruise form over her eye, forcing it shut. See the idiotic grin. A gap where teeth used to be. A void now, where her brain should have been, where her awareness should have been, where consciousness should have been.