Graham paid the round-trip senior fare and waited for the next train. Lunch and catching up with two Force Recon Marines from his old unit were on the agenda. He stepped into the car and spied an open seat. A thirty-something guy with a ripe odor and surly disposition sat across, slouched on two seats with one leg splayed into the aisle. Graham sat and felt a misplaced kick that brushed his calf. The Sloucher smirked, saying: “Sit somewhere else, asswipe,” kicking at Graham’s leg again and solidly connecting this time. Graham looked calmly at the much younger and larger man and, for a brief moment, thought a quick throat strike or well-placed leg stomp would be in order; then he leaned back in his seat and thought better of it.