The man in the compartment must’ve been a conductor. All throughout the journey he flipped through some musical piece, but it looked different from the notes I’d come across in my life. He made a very good impression on me. We exchanged a few words that train mates usually exchange "Is this your seat? Where is number 75? Do you mind if I sat by the window?" It wasn’t much of a conversation, but enough for me to decide that I would like to get to know him better. Of course I didn’t do anything to make it happen. Sometimes I regret that I allowed all the world’s so-called good manners to take hold of me so firmly. I wish I just could do what I feel like doing, but that’s rather impossible - most of the time, I mean. Pity. I am polite and do as expected.
But coming back to my compartment. How come they sell tickets in such a way that in my compartment all the seats are taken, but in the adjoining one there are only three people?? Of course I could’ve taken my bag and go to the other compartment, but again, I didn’t. Why? I’d like to know too... The journey dragged forever. How quickly I forgot. I used to make this trip about once a month and it wasn’t that annoying. This time I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I had a book but it finished in the middle of the trip. So for the next two and a half hours I either dozed or thought, mainly about difficult choices in life. I hate them, but it seems that the older you get the more of them you have to face. Was it a good decision to move from the Warsaw to the seaside? Was it a good choice to leave London? I’m not sure till today. But they say you’ve got only one life, so it’s no use spending most of your time pondering whether your choices were good. Let’s say they were the best at given circumstances.