Passengers snorted, scratched, and read the newspaper, sometimes all at once, while others imagined that they could get back to some kind of vertical sleep.
* * * * * * * * * *
They're animals just like the horses. Maybe worse. Broken. Trained to stay in their furrow, allowed small pleasures like scratching and sleep and access to bureaucratically and politically curated news stories. The only delirium they know is that of the dreams that come when they sleep, and so they attempt, whenever possible, to slip back into slumber.
Maybe I'm being too cynical! Maybe these are all just actions that produce small and varied vocalizations that contribute to the morning overture. The trumpet-like snort. The washboard sounds of scratching. The occasional mutter or assent over something read. The snores of those managing the vertical sleep. It's like a cartoon and so it's way more upbeat an interpretation of the scene than my initial one.
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