choo choo

7:45 somewhere between the Bay Street Station and the Newark Broad Street Station

Dear Diary,

The man next to me smells like feet. It's a beautiful day outside, warm as anything, and I am trying to focus on that, but all I can think about is this stench. He smells so bad. I am trying to turtle down in my collar, but it doesn't help. What? Now he's looking at me. I think he's trying to read what I'm writing. That's right, dude, if you can read this, you are like a vinegar nightmare. Maybe it's not feet. Are you farting? If I feel some sort of jolt from the taught leather seat that we share, I am going to scream.