A woman three rows in front of Lena was watching a video with the sound on full. Buy some goddamn earbuds! Or switch on subtitles. Or, fuck, wait until you get home? What could be so urgent? The sound filtering through to Lena was gibberish, a tinny rising and falling of voices. She imagined storming down the aisle, snatching the phone from the woman, throwing it to the floor and stomping on it over and over until it was just shards of glass and plastic, a tangle of tiny wires.

Back in Brisbane one time, a man diagonally across from her on the train put his legs out on the seat beside her, propped a tablet on his knees and started watching a video. She couldn’t see the screen but from the panting and groans it became obvious within seconds it was porn. She was blocked in by his thick, bare legs; nobody else in the half-full carriage seemed to be bothered, if they noticed at all, seeing as most of them had done what this creep hadn’t and stuck earbuds in or headphones on. She thought about telling him to turn it down. Thought about standing and making him move his legs. She thought she might be overreacting; it wasn’t like he was wanking or anything. She snuck a glance at his face; calm, focused, like he was watching an instruction video: how to poach an egg perfectly every time. Lena wished someone would walk past and see, tell him it was inappropriate. Her mother’s favourite word, which always drove Lena crazy but now she wished for Mum and her prissiness, her sense of propriety. Excuse me, but watching that in public is inappropriate, Mum would say.

Lena tested the moment out in her mind, watching the inner suburbs fly by. Excuse me? Can you switch that off? It’s inappropriate. She couldn’t get her mind to show her what would happen next. You are not someone who tells strange men on public transport what to do or not do, she thought. You are not Mum, even in this best of ways.

Then she thought, What would Aunty Nic do? And she knew right away. She cleared her throat. The man looked at her, a challenge in his eyes. Go on, tell me not to watch my porn. She smiled, lifted a hand, stuck her middle finger up her nose. He grimaced as she turned it around, really having a good old dig up there.

‘Filthy dog,’ he muttered, closing his laptop.

‘Oops. Probably something I should only do in private, hey?’

The man legged it out of the carriage and Lena wiped her hand on her jeans and then texted the woman who inspired her.

Now, on this bus full of sniffers and sneezers, screeching kids and unmuted cat videos, feeling like her head was going to explode, she tried the trick again: What would Aunty Nic do?