Looking over the arm rest

Ok so where is the line? I always thought it was half an arm rest width, but I guess with obesity increasing and butts invading the lower cavity of neighbouring seats are we starting to blur the line. I was sat on a Piccadilly line train minding my own beeswax trying to use the time productively on our latest script, a romcom if you were interested. Now am I the one being out of order by taking my personal work onto a public transportation system? I would have thought not, as surely everyone should be in their own ever increasing expensive 1ft x 1ft ( if your lucky) space to enjoy or dread their journey to wherever as they wish. I would like to be able to get on we my journey without the ever lurking eyes of Mr Black, a very tall lean Japanese man in skinny pleated trousers that still don’t even touch his legs, so he definitely doesn’t lift bro. Or at least does miss a heck of a lot of legs days.
Should I, instead of boiling internally and formulating all manner of one liners veering from aggressive to witty to down right rude, turn to him and ask his opinion? So far in similar occasions I have just allowed this Invision of privacy to let my creative train wait in the tunnel, possibly never to poke its head out the other end. I don’t know how many files have a paragraph or (cough) one line as their sorry little existence due to nosy neighbours, who selfishly didn’t bring an attention keeping device with them.

I am currently sat on a central line train. No arms rests whatsoever! Did the central line start this blurring of personal space? Whoever it was or whatever led to this, is there a way back? A route that takes us back to people respecting one another’s personal space? Or am I the one in the wrong taking my expectations of personal space out of my living quarters. I have been feeling guilty the last paragraph as sometimes I am that person woofing down a cold wrap or a protein bar, or slurping on my sickly sweet smelling protein shake. So is someone out there thinking that I am invading their personal senses space? Am I the arrogant prick who is selfishly making dieters hungry by eating in a public domain? Or am I still on the edge of a respectful person because it’s not offensive smells like fried chicken, cigarettes or mc Donald’s? Is my fastfood(can you even call mcdonalds that, last time I went I waited 15mins for mine to be ready, and I wasn’t even ordering like an LAite) my sentence to actually being the thing that ruins my day?
My biggest fear, being a ducking hypocrite. It’s what I dumped ex-boyfriends for. It also means that I can’t continue to write my ramblings as maybe I am what I hate. And that is sad that I have not been able

“to be the change you wish to see in the world”

Maybe it’s not to late to make that change. I might just ask that gentleman that is unfortunate enough to sit next to me next, to take my spare note pad and give me some notes. That’ll learn him.

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