An open letter

Dear Mr. Swiss Guy on the Number 8 Tram:

It's not that I don't like you. Really. You seem like a very nice man. You seem like the kind of person who donates to Greenpeace and helps build houses for homeless kittens in your spare time. And it's not that you have bad B.O. or a creepy-strange haircut or any other physical feature which would give me horrible recollections of Donald Trump or other Bad People.

I've no doubt that you're a wonderful conversationalist (that is, if I understood any more German than I learned playing Castle Wolfenstein), and have a Buddhist monk's respect for all living things. I know you don't mean any harm, and you look at me with those innocent puppy-dog eyes when I glare at you.

But seriously. We're the only two on the whole freaking train. Do you have to sit right next to me when you get on? No one does that unless a) you want to mug me or b) you think I've got a pretty mouth. Either way, you're creeping me out.

Please keep at least four open seats between us at all times from now on.

We'll both be happier people for it.