Trains

There is a very sweet, very foolish young John Denver lookalike sitting in the lounge car right now, guitar in hand, singing folksy music with a reedy voice and a hopeful grin. Surrounded by extremely cranky senior citizens running on little to no sleep and waiting for the dining car to open a glad hour later than originally announced.
Blue haired grandmothers and be-sweatered grandfathers who would normally pinch this boys cheek and smile indulgently are glaring at him with teeth literally bared. And he just looks down at his hand written music and ardently serenades them.

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