There's a guy sitting across from me on the train right now and he's giving me the eye. No, not the let's-have-hot-sweaty-man-sex eye but the I'm-on-to-you eye. He knows what I'm up to. He can totally tell that I'm the guy doing that thing he suspects me of doing. He's on to me. He's got my number. It doesn't look like he's going to let me get away with it, either. I could be in big trouble here, folks. He looks like the kind of guy who has some experience with holding people accountable. He doesn't quite have that cop stare but he definitely has a security guard stare. I'm gonna get called out here and it's clear that he doesn't care if this is the Quiet Car or not. "Screw the Quiet Car," says his eyes, "I see injustice and I'm going to make it right." Those eyes are awfully talkative. I'm totally busted guys, I can feel it. I'm just not quite sure what he suspects me of doing. Does he know I'm writing about him? Does he know I'm the one who is farting? I'm totally not the one farting, but someone is. Or maybe he knows about some of my more nefarious schemes. No, he can't know about those. No one can know about those. NO ONE MUST KNOW. NOT EVEN ME. It's got to be the farting thing. Seriously, who is farting on this train?