Morning Train

It was a very ordinary morning with a pretty ordinary train ride.

I waited for the train. When it came I sat down (actually getting a seat, which is sometimes un-ordinary). I listened to one of the mixes my Dad made for me, all the while wondering what Ian Anderson meant by "Locomotive Breath." I casually checked my own breath to remind myself if I brushed. No worries, I had. I balanced the cupcake holder on my lap, trying to keep it even and realized for the first time that my thighs slope downward. Keeping them even is an impossible task.

I looked across the way and saw a guy and girl casually talking. Without hearing them I relied on body language to decipher their conversation.

Guy: I really like you and think we could have a lot in common if we saw each other more often.
Girl: Yeah, I don't know you well enough to let our bodies touch on this crowded train.
Guy: That's ok, I'll just look down at your beautiful/artificially tanned face.
(Another guy gets up from further down the car and sits beside her. Mind you, he's carrying a backpack and a bright pink purse.)
Girl: (taking the purse from Guy 2) Tall, Greek, overly tanned, godlike boyfriend this is average, slightly pudgy, overly hairy acquaintance.
Guy 2: (gives Guy the head nod) I'm hot and so is my girlfriend.
Guy: You're right, I don't stand a chance. So, for the next 20 minutes I'm going to make jokes and tell stories that will force you to give me pity laughs.

I arrived at 42nd street with time to spare and walked slowly out of the car and up the stairs. I left the awkward trio on the train still wondering how bad "Locomotive Breath" could possibly be.

I leave you humming Jethro Tull's "Locomotive Breath." I'm hoping someone can help me out with the meaning of this one.