They're not my family, they're not my friends. They're . . . my "famuters" -- those familiar commuters who ride the train with me each and every day.
I don't know their names. I only know their faces. Some have ridden with me on the north Tokyo rails for years. Others jump in for a season or two and then are gone -- drawn away perhaps by a job change or a new school in another direction.
Mostly we sit or stand in the same places every single morning, as if our positions were reserved. When a stranger usurps somebody's spot, the whole ride seems wrong and each of us begins our day slightly out of sync.