A Nap on the Train

It's a warm feeling, when you give in to the exhaustion of being awake at the ungodly hour of 7:30 AM. For me, it's usually on the rug in the bathroom, sneaking a quick two-minute nap while the shower warms up-- two square-feet of plush, in such a circumstance, is comparable to any queen-sized bed I have ever shared. 
The next short nap is taken standing up, under the shower head-- the warm water act as a blanket in a particularly engulfing waterbed.
The third nap is the most dangerous, in regard to timeliness. This one is taken on the blue line, immediately after transferring from the red line. I take the window seat, next to the rotund man who sat on the end seat in order to block the window seat from occupation. While his value system places personal space near the top, his stained sweatpants clarify that, within said space, there are no standards.
I initially noticed this man on my very first train ride to high school, freshman year. Every ride since has included his doppelganger of habit and style. I combat his petty gesture of self-entitlement with an, "excuse me, is anyone sitting there?," to which he begrudgingly turns his legs to the aisle, creating a tight but soft walkway. As I stumble through to my seat I imagine a red carpet under my feet-- a "thank you" from society for challenging this man's absurd degree of self-importance.
This particular train ride and nap begin like any other-- the third in a trilogy of post-sleep, pre-workday naps to satiate the exhaustion that comes with a bleak outlook on a, say, Tuesday morning. As I doze off, my posture begins the slow fold forward that culminates in a top-of-the-roller-coaster-like feeling. I jerk forward, startled, then allow my eyelids to close again. This ostensibly occurs because somewhere deep in my subconscious is a very slight aspect of my personality that is responsible and cares that I make it to work on-time. Were this not the case, I would sleep through my stop on a daily basis (provided I had even made it out of bed in the first place. And, if we're going to extremes, the question of whether or not I would still be employed must be asked). The whole process of lurching forward, waking up startled, and settling back into a transitory slumber exists on a loop until, ideally, I come-to by the sound of the conductor calling my stop.
"This is Racine... watch your step... doors closing!" the conductor yells every morning, though perhaps he forgot to on this particular morning. I drift in, then out, then back in again, occasionally catching the names of stops I recognize only as "not mine." I faintly notice the rumble of the wheels on the tracks grow louder, as if echoing in a tunnel that my route doesn't take me through. My eyelids illuminate my closed eyes singularly by means of unnatural light. "Such bizarre circumstances can only mean I'm dreaming!" I dream, unaware that my few responsible cells are trying to alert me of my irresponsibility.
I finally awake to a sun that's higher in the sky than it should be. For a second I blame the changing seasons, then I notice, on an imaginary table in front of me: crow. I stare in awe at such a proverbial monstrosity, ripe and ready to be eaten. My personal humiliation is furthered by my inability to move from my seat. The man sitting next to me has a slight grin on his face, as if he has scored some substantial victory in a battle that I had initiated.