She slumped back into her arms, folded across the carriage table, joining three sets of folded arms already there. My seat was at a window among a similar set of folded arms. Should I disturb the suffering young woman in my seat to claim what was mine and risk the terrifying wrath of a disturbed hangover, or meekly pass by hoping to find a seat elsewhere in the packed train? Above seat A23 my name winked back at me, a seeming challenge to claim what was mine. “Girls, I’m in the wrong seat,” she announced, urbi et orbi (to the city and to the world).

Source: The Irish Times November 03, 2025 01:31 UTC