Young businessman, expensive suit, expensive gold watch. Groomed hair in an expensive-looking executive cut. White shirt with pressed cuff and collar, gold cufflinks. 21 Hayes outbound, summer in San Francisco.
Looks around slyly, as if he's not looking around. Head motionless, eyes shift left, eyes shift right, scans the nearby passengers. Then moves his head ever so subtly, left, then right. Doesn't see me watching him. Thinks the coast is clear.
Inserts a manicured nail deep into one nostril, digs around purposefully, extracts something which sticks to his fingertip as he holds it up for examination. California afternoonlight highlights a gold-colored booger, crisp as new-minted money. Looks around slyly, as if he's not looking around. Eyes left, eyes right, head left, head right, clear coast. Slides finger and booger greedily into his executive mouth, chews, glows with golden contentment, swallows. Just a little commute-time snack for a rising corporate star.
The privileges of the ruling class.