I was sitting comfortably in the sun with my nose firmly embedded in  my book riding a train back to Kyoto from Osaka  The seats around me were sparsely populated and the monotonous hum combined with the occasional sounds of crossing bells was hypnotic.  The adventure of Errol Flynn had once again drawn me in (My Wicked Wicked Ways: The Autobiography of Errol Flynn) and was taking me for a wonderful journey when for one reason or another I looked up.  I glanced around at the people engrossed in their own thing, the scenery flashing by outside the window, myself as I sat, and let out a deep sigh.
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