On the City Train

A loud chime. The suction on the heavy metal doors seal them closed and the large box car jerks forward. It’s stuffy inside and the plastic handles above our heads are slippery with oil from other people’s fingers. Strangers ballooned in bulky parkas are squeezed together in the aisle. Their eyes are fixed on backlit rectangles above the foggy aquarium windows where carefree people encourage you to sign up for a library card on the way to the flea market in the next panel. Mysteries, celebrity interviews, and thumping dance music quietly entertain the disinterested passengers while amber lights flicker each time the giant steel centipede pushes through a steady beat of tunnels. Hidden in a forest of denim and gray slacks, a cellophane bag of potato chips pops open followed by a muffled crunch. Four seats down, the tattered page of a paperback book swipes left.