Knowing that his situation is not an appropriate object of my curiosity, I use my peripheral vision to absorb the scene before me. Flanked by two enormous officers, the man sitting on the opposite bench is positioned in such a way—with his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them tightly to his chest—that I am sure he would fall over after the slightest push. It’s like he has no weight, barely grazing his seat with his body, and he looks terrified. His fingers are white from gripping so hard, with the blood appearing to have circulated to his darting, cautious eyes.
