He slumped in a seat, and checked his phone, but fell into a coma before he had even looked at any updates, and just lay there, unheeded phone in hand.
Then he roused, rubbed his forehead shakily...
Then hunched forwards, as though suddenly nauseous.
But didn't hurl. Thank heavens.
The train pulled into a station, he looked up blearily, stood, and wobbled his way off into the night.
Whereupon another guy in the carriage asked me why I had let him get off there ? I shrugged and he said, "oh, I thought he was with you."
Had I somehow taken ownership of him by sketching him ? Was I the designated sketcher ? A graphite version of In loco parentis ?
I like that, like my line is a lasso, and I'm rounding you all up, taking care of you all.
( In your best creepy League of Gentlemen voice ) You're my sketch now !