Out of Order: On the Way to Rubber Room #5 & 6

I'm surprised at how crowded the train is at noontime on Friday.  I have the last seat in the rear of the train, so looking forward I only see the backs of heads.  

Directly in front of me straight brown hair with a hint of red.  The temples of glasses visible when the head turns slightly.  The combination of such straight hair and such glasses makes me think librarian, but who knows, could be quite the opposite, making for a better story.

In front of her, that blend of gray and blonde which means a mature woman with an expensive hair-dresser minus the obsessive adherence to an appointment schedule.  I expect her to be creative, possibly scattered, good-hearted.

On the left side a bit further forward, a pair Rastafarian cuts, but wearing suit jackets, making me suspect the haircut is a statement of style rather than a way of life.  Neither head moves; they don't look at each other.

In front of them, a perfectly white head, also unmoving.  It is lower in the seat, so I expect it belongs to a shorter woman.  Easy to gravitate to the image of the kindly old woman and the kindly old man when age, but who knows how much havoc they wreaked to survive so long a life?

And in front of her, a gray head becoming a whiter shade of gray.   The head bobs with the movement of the train.  He is following some inner music (no head-phones visible), or he is meditating, entranced by the loco motion of it all.