Possibly the only person in this section of the train carrying a dumb phone, is also the same person writing intently with a cheap ball point pen.
Casually dressed in jeans, a polo tee a tad too big for him, and heavy black boots, he can certainly pass of as one of the construction workers in Singapore. Deep in thought, his words are packed like sardines on the page, as if he feared he would run out of pages to write on.
A dairy? A story? who would get to read ink stained papers in his worn out notebook?