The Morning Air Carries a Yawn

Eight-thirty in the morning, a subway platform. He had gone to bed late the night before, and stood waiting with his eyes half closed. The moment the doors of the on-time train opened, cold air brushed past. Just then the middle-aged man beside him let out a huge yawn, head tipped back, and that yawn began to spread through the people around them one by one, like a chain reaction. His shoulders shook as he held back a laugh. He bit his lip and resisted, but in the end, the yawn came out anyway. With the sound of the doors closing, the train pulled away. Left alone on the empty platform, he swallowed the rest of his yawn.