The sleep

I take the train, early in the morning, to get to the capital. It will take me an hour and ten minutes, which depending on how you look at it, is little or a lot. It serves me to read, reply to messages, face the day with some calm and think that I won't use the phone again until I return at night. It's a train that runs well (it's the Catalan ones) and should have more frequent service. It's always full of tourists coming and going from Montserrat.

Next to me, a woman with curly hair, carrying a fake Louis Vuitton bag, has her head against the window. She must be coming from Manresa, I think, because she's fast asleep. In front, a young guy, dressed in a sweatshirt from that fashion brand and with a toolbox at his feet, is also sleeping. You imagine this one studies a degree, the toolbox doesn't look professional

. Next to him, a girl, also young, with many tattoos on her arms (she's showing as much cleavage as in summer), is also sleeping. And in the back, next to the bathroom door, a man, older, is snoring.

Many people are sleeping in this carriage at this hour. They are not returning from a party, they are going to work or to study. They have woken up early to get to who knows if Abrera, Martorell, or Barcelona, but sleeping on the train means they had a bad night. Or that they are short of sleep. I remember, of course, returning from parties where you would fall asleep on the train, in the early hours, but I don't remember waking up every single day, without having gone out, and already being sleepy. If you're at that hour, if you can't help but sleep – what they call a passion for sleep – already showered and on your way to work, how will you face the day?

Some people who sleep poorly surround me. They say they don't know what it's like to wake up rested and energetic. Then, what are they missing? How do they live?