Matt sat on the train in silent thought. It vibrated and occasionally jostled beneath him; the rythym lulled him. He stared, half out the window and half into nowhere, and daydreamed. Someone near shouted, “Fuck!” but Matt didn’t twitch or look.

He always wondered how he looked when he was sitting like this. Sitting still was a hard-won skill, and he hoped that it made him look impressive, stoic, and thoughtful. He thought about other guys thinking that Matt was impassive, imperturbable, badass. They were just reading and listening to music, but in Matt’s head they were quietly impressed by Matt’s focus.

And he thought about the girls on the train. He wanted them to think he was cool, interesting, and to wonder what he was thinking. Mysterious. Deep. He thought about what if one came over and asked what he was thinking, what he might say and how that might go. He’d be interesting, they’d talk, and she’d give him her number, and a cascade of interesting fantasies followed.

A cute girl got off the train. For a second, Matt wanted to say something. But he sat still, and nobody talked to him. In his head, they were nervous.