Rotten

On Friday I saw a man crying on the train. He was older than me, maybe fifteen-twenty years more. He was sobbing loud now and then. That's how I noticed him. I was deep in my book. Then heard him letting it out loud. He couldn't help it or just didn't give a damn.
After a while, I felt like going over to him, and give him a big hug. But I didn't. Instead I gave my notice at work.
The water tastes so strange in this heat. Even if I let it run for a minute or so. Rotten.