Everyone seemed to know their place, but I wasn't sure of mine. Then a moment later the train was whirling us along. I looked for a seat - carriage after carriage; all were taken; even the bags, in some former lifetime, had booked themselves ahead. Why are you standing? the conductor said; this journey is long and not so scenic. Because I have no place, I said, gesturing up and down the carriage. You don't understand, he said, no seat has been reserved; there are just those who believe they have the right to sit in them. Then you will take a stand for me? I asked. No, he said, shaking his head, it isn't my part to do anything. My duty ends with this counsel: you have as much right to sit down as any who are seated, but, properly considered, that's no cause for disappointment, since it wouldn't have satisfied you anyway. What do you mean satisfied, I said, I'm tired enough as it is. Well be that so, be that so, he conceded amiably. But let's just say, even hypothetically, I were to find a seat for you, having what you wanted wouldn't satisfy you, you see, because you still wouldn't know your place.