Taking the Train

In movies, especially international ones, trains always give me a feeling of warmth, freedom, relaxation, and hope.

K137, the train back to Changsha, presents a scene that makes me feel “alarming, utterly disgusting.”

Many people shamelessly smoke in the carriage, shamelessly toss their food and drink trash right onto the floor—melon seed shells, chicken bones, food wrappers.

The whole carriage is a smoky mess, full of strange odors, an absolute garbage dump.

I loathe these people, even despise them. “A bunch of low-class folks,” is what I thought to myself.

I silently vowed never to take the train back to Changsha again. Can’t bear it. Maybe it’s better not to go home.

I know there’s something wrong with some of my thoughts, but why do they act like this?