Could've, but didn't

       I imagine things sometimes, just to fill up the blank spaces which are called boredom.
      When the conductor, who was carrying my suitcase, indicated that I should ask somebody to move their belongings or body parts so I could be seated, I was near the end of the car, where a man was sitting alone, kind of scrunched in by the window seat, so I sat with him, after dutifully checking to see if the seat were taken.  He wasn't reading, or texting, or wearing headphones, and as time would reveal, was rather sick, quietly coughing and swallowing pills during the five-hour ride from Framingham into Rensselaer.  It was pretty obvious that he preferred to be left alone, as indeed seemed to be true of all the other singly seated passengers.
    So I wondered what would happen if I intruded into his personal space and started a chat, asking questions, sharing tales of my visit with grandchildren, and being a general annoyance.  I had watched the show, Louis C.K., the night before, where C.K., slumped in the back of the car, was the victim of his driver's attempt at conversation and camaraderie.  The driver, Mike, shared his feelings about other people he'd encountered in his line of work, and was merrily relating  vignettes and anecdotes until C.K. finally drew himself up and announced that while others may enjoy such conversation, he himself did not.  To the dismay of the driver, C.K. said his touring was work and at this point in his life like going to the bathroom, something he had to do, and that he wanted to be left alone.  The driver's disappointment and sorrow were palpable, and disturbing, even to old C.K.
    I tortured myself for a while, mentally putting myself in the driver's place and experiencing, vicariously, the embarrassment and humiliation which would surely be forthcoming.  But in the end, I outlasted my seat mate.  I  worked diligently on the Sunday New York Times Crossword almost the entire trip, speaking not a single word, which is my custom during travel anyway. Nearing the end of the line for that train, which was the Rensselaer Station, my seatmate finally spoke, complaining about the coldness of the train.  I simply agreed--the air conditioning was very chilly.