I have the middle seat on a 17-hour train to Changsha. In our compartment, there are two benches facing each other, a short table by the window with a small metal tray for sunflower seeds and Chinese date pits. Sometimes if there is space, I can rest my head on my right arm until it feels like it’s been stuck with a billion needles.

The man on my left has his legs in the walkway and is talking to his friend in Sichuanese across the aisle. They speak faster and more aggressively than people in Chengdu. I think they are from Chongqing.

Three guys my age sit facing me. Window seat is resting his head on the table, Middle seat has his head on Window seat’s back and his leg over Aisle seat’s thigh. Aisle seat is listening to music, occasionally glancing over at me.

Eventually, Aisle seat needs a cigarette. He wakes Middle seat up and asks for the pack, who reaches over and digs for it in Window seat’s pockets. There are only two left. Less than a minute later, Window seat picks his head off the table, pats his pockets and heads straight for the smoking section.

I can smell tobacco from my seat and see smoke creeping towards me like a beckoning hand. The smoking section is really where one carriage connects to the next. No windows are open but the smoke leaks out through small gaps in the exit doors on either side.

The ashtrays look like mouths jutting out of the wall, vomiting cigarette butts onto the floor. There is so much grime on the textured metal floor that it’s almost smooth. The smoke is so thick you can barely see the passengers in the other carriage. But it helps mask the smell of piss and instant noodle shits.

I’m thirsty but the hot water dispenser in our carriage is broken. I hate climbing over people so I stop by the bathroom to make the most of my trip. The last person didn’t didn’t flush. I feel like I’m being hugged by the stench of everyone’s piss.

I wedge my water bottle between my arm and my side, place my feet as far away from the edge as possible and piss into the squat toilet. The train isn’t rocking too badly, but scenes of stepping into 120 plus people’s piss flash before my eyes. I wonder what I would do if I dropped my water bottle.

I wash my hands with water, turn the door handle and am relieved to smell tobacco. I ask a man smoking where I can get water and he says the one in the next carriage is broken too. Walk to the next next carriage and there might be water he says.

I see babies crying, mothers breastfeeding, and card games being played. Every fourth person is slurping instant noodles. I smell spicy numbing pepper beef everywhere because that’s the only flavor they’re selling today. I take an earbud out and hear Chinese dramas on full blast. I take the other one out and hear snoring.

The water is boiling. It hurts just to keep my hand on the tap, so I remove it, wait till my thermos bottle is almost full and swat the tap shut. I try to cool it with my breath and the steam instantly clears my sinuses. It should be cool enough to drink in a couple hours.

I can hear the food cart lady coming. She’s belting out prices and yelling at people to get out of the aisle. I feel a tap on my shoulder. Handsome brother, do you have any cash to exchange? I hand him 100 kuai first so he can catch the food cart. Window seat scans my QR code, adds me on WeChat and transfers me 100 kuai.

Everyone in my compartment gets off except me. I guess they were all heading back to Chongqing. I watch the three friends walking along the platform. Their arms are around each other’s shoulders and they’re laughing over who is going to buy the next pack of cigarettes.

I check my watch. It took 5 hours to get to Chongqing on the slow train. Aiyoh, it would have taken an hour and a half on the high-speed train. I save 600 kuai. But I’m not sure I can last another 12 hours.

The migrant workers who got on at Chongqing are busy playing card games, talking and getting swindled. Salesmen enter the carriages every two hours hawking electric shavers and portable batteries, waking people up as they walk down the aisle. Even with all this noise, I haven’t seen a single person use earplugs.

A balding man with a fine moustache and goatee tests out one of the electric shavers. He juts his chin out over the aisle so the hairs don’t fall over him. Everyone, take a look! Handsome brother, isn’t it easy to use? A small crowd gathers to watch. Sold. Two hours later, I hear the razor buzzing and turn to see the same man shaving the rest of his face.

My new seatmates and I are sitting shoulder to shoulder. They look different from people in Sichuan. Aisle seat is older, has a very square face and a 5 o’clock shadow. Window seat has wavy hair, a deep tan and also has a square jaw. I wonder if they’re from Hunan.

We are all jealous of the pudgy bastard in front of us. As soon as he realized nobody else was coming on at Chongqing, he took off his shoes, laid down and started snoring. His checkered shirt is not quite long enough, so you can his hairless belly jiggle with the train. I want to throw his loafers into the toilet.

I’m listening to Aruarian Dance by Nujabes but I can still hear pudgy man snoring. I feel like I’m back in Arizona, where my apartment walls were so thin I could hear cars starting outside, the TV playing in the living room and the upstairs neighbor dropping shit on the floor.

My girlfriend would use earplugs but the louder sounds still penetrated her dreams. I would hear her gasp and feel her heartbeat quicken every time the upstairs neighbor dropped something. In the mornings, she would always complain about nightmares. So in those times, I stroked her hair, kissed her on the forehead and held her close. It was the only thing I could do.

Window seat is watching a shark horror movie and Aisle seat has gone for his fifth cigarette since he’s got on the train. From listening to their brief exchanges with the food cart ladies, they’re definitely not from Sichuan. They speak only Mandarin. If Mandarin was an acoustic guitar, then Sichuanese would be a heavily distorted electric guitar.

Pudgy man gets up to the bathroom and Aisle seat immediately moves to the opposite middle seat. I take Aisle seat’s empty seat and we both put our legs up. When pudgy returns he doesn’t say a word. He takes the window seat, checks his phone and then puts his head on the table. My seatmates and I exchange looks. Bastard.

But I still can’t fall asleep. My eyes are still hungry.

Window seat has been quiet. Since he got onto the train, he’s only said, “Is this seat 16?” At one of the stops, he went out onto the platform, bought something to eat and came back in for a cigarette. He hasn’t spoken more than a few words to anyone. He just keeps staring out the window.

I feel like I’ve seen this before a thousand times. I close my eyes and I can see the back of my brother’s head as he watches the countryside roll by. Every time the two of us got into trouble, my brother would stare hard out the window. After a while, he would always say something like, “Oh I didn’t know there was a McDonald’s over there!” I want to reach out and ruffle his hair. I want to hear him laugh.

When we lived in Indonesia, we used to commute an hour past rice paddies, textile factories and rivers that would change colors daily on the way to school. Sometimes my brother and I would take turns lying down in the backseat. One of our favorite games was to look at each other upside down. He always looked like a man with a beard and moustache but no mouth.

Changde! Changde! Everyone getting off at Changde wake up! Window seat takes out his earbuds and motions for me to let him pass. He sits back down, looks at me and smiles. I ask him if he’s arrived. Yeah, you going to Changsha? A couple more hours then.

He gets up with his backpack, looks back at me one more time, waves and heads out the door. Goodbye brother. I am the last one in my compartment again.

Finally, I have the whole bench to myself. I use my backpack as a pillow, fold my arms and sink into the fabric.

My eyes are full.