This strain of silence would likely be unbearable for any one of these fellow travelers. However, Gorilla Munch and his captured victim both are fine staring into one another. Seconds turn to minutes turn to whatever comes after that. Eternity, eternal oblivion.

And what's this? Gorilla Munch now actually breaking his gaze upon this lovely woman? This fair looking creature who he imagined to be warm, and caring, and introspective--has she bested him in this unholy contest of willpower?

A slight sound of rummaging comes from Munch's small brown bag underneath his seat. A slight sound of rummaging, then a meek mewing thrusting forward to be heard through heavy layers of zipper and canvas. Munch reaches his craggy hands to his feet and unzips the bag, pulling out a small, dusty-gray kitten, ruffled like a potato chip. Another meek mew, this time an overture of freedom. Munch brings the kitten to his face, and buries himself into its dirty coat of fur. Laughing quietly while rubbing the small creature across his eyes, nose, cheeks, and neck. The kitten doesn't seem to mind one bit. It purrs softly, and settles down into its master's lap.

Munch looks supremely satisfied and glances out the window. A small drop of drool crystallizes on the corner of his lips and hangs softly. He looks back at her, his eyes full of anticipation.
He is curious about her.

Her eyebrows wrinkled together. She doubted her ears, but as if summoned, he said it again, just as clearly...
"Gorilla Munch."
His lips formed around each word, beating out each original syllable like a cadence on a cymbal.
Excitement rose in her, starling her from her visual hold on him. It was like a tingling in her stomach. Butterflies, some called it. When was the last time something made her feel like standing on the edge of a great thing?
She sucked breath through her her nose sharply, her eyes glistening. A smile split her face, she had to open her mouth slightly to accommodate.
He watched her too.
An eternity passed between them.

She squinted at him now, first peeping through her left eye. Now closing it quickly, and peeking through her right eye, unaware of her little nose scrunching up. Back and forth, back and forth.
She wasn't great at the age guessing game, always shooting too low. But him? He must be mid forties, she nodded in agreement with herself. Yep. His posture. His attire. The way he ground his teeth into the butt of the smoke. It didn't suit him. She brought a finger to her squinting eyes, and pretended to smash the cigarette between them.
She paused, an eerie feeling brought her back to her surroundings. She was being watched. By him. By this old man. Who smoked too much. Dropping her hand, and opening her eyes widely, she stared back. Realizing that he had caught her looking at him through her slitted eyelids, she stuck out her chin bravely. She wouldn't be scolded by his harsh stare, neither would she be the first to look away shamefully.
She held, unblinkingly for almost a full minute.
Then, keeping her gaze matched to his, she saw him mouth two words to her...
"Gorilla Munch"

Sometimes standing on ones head seems to help eliminate the blur of the lights but mostly it must be handled with a careful squint and a wobbling of the head side to side. This at least makes it all a bit entertaining like a moving picture show with a one man (or woman) director with a tiny budget and even less time ticking away. Seems difficult to know if what is seen is happening inside or outside of ones head especially when the lines are so so very brilliant.

In a stifling cramped forward car, there sits one character that stands out among the rest. Balding man, late-30's I suppose, the minor tufts of hair still clinging to the sides of his lumpy scalp dyed bright green. He chomps at the bit of a long, elegant cigarette holder, with the butt-end of a stub of a forgotten cigarette still glowing all the way down to the filter.

Every so often, another passenger would stare over at him. Make brief eye contact. Glances touch, the eyes wander over crevices of skin, shapes of cheekbones, cracks in lips, until at very last embarrassment takes over and the stranger can behold no more of the glory that is this weary traveler. Not wanting to be rude, but lacking in many a social grace, the balding man would lock on to whichever unlucky passenger caught his attention, much like a heat-seeking missile searching out its target through some primitive desert cave.

And as it just so happens, one curious and unfortunately unlucky passenger has just been ensnared in this unbelievably irresistible spider's web. This affords us the opportunity to see firsthand how this balding man interacts with his surroundings. Allowing his gaze to drop along with his cigarette, he opens his mouth and coughs out the only thing that comes to his mind...

"Gorilla Munch."

It is his name, the two words in life he loves the most. Predictably, the recipient of his modest communal gesture is confused...well, maybe horrified is a better word to describe the facial twists and eye squints that consume this everyday traveler who, until three seconds ago, was a complete stranger to Gorilla Munch.

Gorilla Munch. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous man who does ridiculous things. Gorilla Munch rides a train. Gorilla Munch smokes his cigarette all the way down to the filter, and then some. Gorilla Munch stares. Gorilla Munch coughs out his words at strangers like a giant spider barking at birds in trees. Gorilla Munch only says two words to strangers, no more. The two words that complete his own name.

"Gorilla Munch."