“I like you.” you like who?

(3^rd person)
I recollected the image standing next to them. We crowded the subway car, all holding on to something and interfering. I tried not to care, but they were striking. He was well dressed, with a distinctive leather attaché carried perfunctorily home. His face seemed tired but he smiled to himself as he stood there, as if something had happened earlier in the day, or he noticed something about all of us that we didn’t see. This detached amusement stayed me. What was funny? The other passengers seemed to look at nothing and the men looked at the ladies near the door. Then I noticed the ladies too. I wonder if they are always noticed, maybe not, but they seemed more…public, more noticed. They seemed more indifferent too, to everything crammed in that car, but expecting to be noticed. I was agitated…because that agitates me. Then I watched this fellow, modestly dressed and almost benignly retiring. Those ladies watched him too. It was different for them. I think they noted the same things I did about him, but wherever his contented grace came from, I think we all wanted it. We wanted to know why he seemed interesting. I wonder what he thought of us.