The Geometry of Recognition

By the time the train doors opened it was already at capacity.

The express line to the city during the early morning commute, a mix of business types, workers, students, and tourists.

Last stop before the main station.

As always at some point I chose to stand near the doors, a habit of always analyzing the space and the geometry, but in places like this with so many people it would have little effect.

Still.

Standing across from me was a young man, reading a book, wearing a jacket with a backpack sling over his right side.

And on that backpack he wore a curious small circular pin.

Which I recognized right away.

One that only a specific group of specific people would recognize. 

You had to belong at a certain level to wear that pin, often on your jacket lapel in certain gatherings, and while it was possible, it was highly unlikely he would have one given his age.

There was also the manner with which he was standing, legs crossed to be more comfortable as the train shifted back and forth on the tracks. With that pin one would never cross their legs like that.

Or hold their shoulders like that.

The book he was reading wasn’t so much a book but rather a journal judging by the blue ink and handwriting.

I could have read it, but that would have been a violation of something private.

The pin itself was also a bit worn, as if it had been around for some time, not quite as worn as mine.

Part of my wanted to ask him about it, as clearly it wasn’t his.

But that would have changed the geometry.