The man on the oatmeal box

A man gets on the subway car. He's wearing a quaker hat and dress pants. Middle aged maybe. There are several seats available, yet he looks straight at me and sits down.
He is holding a manila envelope with several smaller envelopes inside. The envelope has four letters on it. LSTP .. LFGT... something like that, it makes no sense to me.
He leans over and looks up at my face.
His hands begin fluttering around. He's muttering to himself like a schizophrenic. He rubs one hand then the other, He rubs one hand then the other.
He reminds me an umpire at a baseball game.
Whenever I move, his eyes follow. He is not looking at anyone else on the train.
My heart is beating very fast.
I move to another seat. He still stares.
He rubs one hand, then the other.
He gets up after several stops.
He comes to the window next to where I am sitting.
He slaps himself in the face, steps back, and follows mine as the train pulls away.