All stops to Hornsby

You were sitting in the seat across from mine, to my left. Dressed in black, tight black pants and brown suede boots cut the the knee - the kind with a pointed front and stiletto heel. You sat with one foot folded underneath you and the other stretched out to the floor. You sat slovenly, leaning onto your bag that sat to your side so no-one could occupy the seat it took.  I hate when people do that.

You punched numbers into your phone, calling the people you spoke to by 'darl' or 'babe' or 'hun'. There was a harsh undertone to your voice, behind all the artificial name-calling. It made the word 'babe' sound like a threat.

I heard you. The whole carriage heard you.

You crowed into that phone, and let out, or pushed rather, a laugh onto all those within earshot. That laugh was pushed out onto us like a justification.

I judged you. I'm sorry. I heard you and thought to myself, 'Far out, I do not want to be that'. I was not expecting it. This feeling just snuck up and slapped my across the face. You spoke about sex, and people you don't care about, and your period... I felt a little embarrassed for you. Understand that I'm not questioning your right to commitment-free sex, nor am I insinuating a lack of class here. I am not the type to get all worked up because someone says the word 'boob' in public. But a merely a care-free woman, you are not. The way you showboated to the entire carriage made me a little sad for you. For that too, I'm sorry. 

You know, as a boarded the train I was given the impression that you hated whomever 'love' and 'honey' were, because of that harsh edge to your voice. But as I stepped off, near the end of the line, I realized that maybe it was you you weren't so fond of. Maybe you envied 'babe' and 'darling'...

And that was about the only thing you didn't mention.