The public train transportation hosts a myriad of different peoples with diverse lives and ideas. Those jumbles of personality and history all clash together in the train cars, but there is a semblance of an unwritten law for traveling just by public trans. There is a certain etiquette that most people follow for the comfort of their own being and the comfort of the people around them. This man was violating all of those codes and morals.
The usually quiet train cars that would be filled with ambient noises that warded away the eerie near-absolute silence was instead disrupted by moaning groans and whines from an indistinct section of the seating. The people immediately surrounding the source of the sound didn't even bother to turn their heads and look at it right away, because that would be infringing on sections on the code that implied that curiosity is meant to be kept only to one's self. Of course, they would covertly glance out of the corners of their eyes when they could without being too conspicuous. Drawing attention to themselves was the last thing they wanted to do.
People just went about their daily business, getting on, getting off, finding a seat, shifting papers, checking their cell's answering machine, and they just glanced over the man that would groan when everyone least expected it. They didn't even consider stepping over and trying to figure out what was wrong, especially when they realized that the source of these rather disgusting noises was a grungy, oily, dirty hobo with an androgynous form, though it was most likely male by the sounds it was making. He was no aspect of great interest or amusement, at least until a mother with her young daughter stepped aboard the train and took the most convenient seats.
The little girl was about six and not yet constrained from curiosity by the tight bonds most train-rider places upon themselves. In fact, she was perfectly unaware of any such codes and stared at the dirty creature (what he was in her eyes) with innocence-filled blue eyes. She knew what was wrong with him so she didn't have to ask, only stare. Maybe there was no sympathy in her stare, but there was no distain, no annoyance. Her mother noticed her looking and followed her gaze as her eyes widened and she gently told her daughter to look away and leave the poor man alone. The little girl obeyed, silently letting the homeless man with his dirty ragged clothing continue to cry indecipherably about the worms that were trying to dig inside of his brain.
No one else had any idea what that man was going through, looking over him. He wasn't their business. Why should any other independent adult care for the man with the worms eating his head? When her mother wasn't looking, the little girl snuck a look back over at the man and sighed a childsigh as he clawed at his shaggy gray hat, curled up in the fetal position against the side of the car and the chair. But it was soon their stop. She held her mother's hand as they stepped out of the car and spared not another thought involving the deranged man. She was getting a new dolly today.