The morning commute

I was in the carriage of the N train, quietly partaking in that communal state of mind that everyone seems to attain while the train runs in between stations; where one blindly fixes one's gaze into something innocuous (like the top of someone's head or a brightly coloured toenail) while one's mind runs through grocery lists, weekend tasks and where to get coffee. Suddenly, a little bit before we were hauled back into reality by the announcement of the driver that we were at Union Square, two women started shouting at each other.
"You bitch! You try stepping on my shoes once more and I'll kill you!"
"I didn't step on your shoes! Are you crazy or something?"
"You stepped on my shoes all right. Take that!" and the bristling, red-haired dumpling of a woman shot out a great black shoe-clad foot to kick into the young girl's shin. The girl screamed, and the ginger menace made a face, glared at everyone else in the train and walked out of the carriage. The girl looked at the other people in the carriage and said, "She's crazy! She just got up and started yelling at me!" while rubbing her leg.
"I saw it coming, I knew she was strange," a woman with butterfly sunglasses sitting next to me said to no one in particular. "She tried to wriggle me out of my seat when I was sitting next to her."
Clearly Ms. Ginger was in a foul mood and readily dispensed it to others that happened on her path. I gave a sympathetic smile to the young girl who was still rubbing her leg.

I think of times I've infected others with my bad moods, times which happen all too often. I growl and snarl when I am feeling upset, and whine if things don't go my way. Only last night I had been picking a fight with M. and ruined an otherwise pleasant evening. I think of the red-haired woman and frown, not at her but at the reflection of myself I see in her angry eyes.