It's getting less rough

It was dark and i was getting bored as the train whirred into the station. It was late. The carriage consisted of rows of seats, a skinhead and his mates. I was trying to look out of the windows. On both sides the glass refected parallel trains with ghostly occupants. Seeking solace in soft sleep i shut my eyes.

We jolted into arrival, a new station. A girl took the seat opposite me, eyes wide with the night. She talked at me, her incessant voice stifling my need to sleep. I could only focus on her. It was what she wanted, some sort of attention. The train's speaker crackled into life. The Carribean driver giving a list of stations to come, one being mine. Still i could not tear my mind from this girl's dialogue. She postured. She was interested in me. She found herself most interesting. It is late. Amongst her confusing tirade i caught a thread, if we could learn something from everyone. The driver finished speaking. Had my station been in his list?

The skinhead shouted,
"Paki!"
I coughed aggressively and with annoyance.
The skinhead chanted,
"Youth, youth, youth!".
My attention was on them now.I felt uncomfortable but then realised that i hadn't been listening to the girl. She still kept on. This was my station.
The girl stayed on the train which in turn was on it's own perpetual cycle. The rest of us left the train. The skinhead barged past me hanging his head.