There is she, capturing a three by three, riding from New Canaan, because there is only one stop before mine.
There is also a he, but that bores me.
I’ve always been fond of the feminine side.
She is trim. Dark hair. Not sexy, yet beautiful. She looks like she has a purpose. It might be shopping, but she has the appearance of smart, so perhaps a business meeting.
But here is Stamford, so I must depart, to catch my transfer…
Now a different she is doing her makeup. Some foundation, eye liner I think. I’m guessing soon she’ll touch on her lips. Some red, scarlet, or perhaps something not shocking, or startling. But she is quite intent on looking just right.
It must be a lover, or maybe competitor she seeks out tonight.
Her intention on beauty, of primping, has captivated me. And now the brush! The one you use to put something on your cheeks. She has already brushed her hair. And I believe I said it’s dark and beautiful.
Another, next to me, her head is so cocked to the left. I wonder how she could sleep. She is slender, with sandals that cover barely any of her feet. She has tan khakis that fall gracefully over her legs. Gentle silver loops grace her ears. A blue and white plaid shirt form fit to match the rest of her body.
But her head no longer cocked, but cast up, mouth a gape as if waiting to taste the rain. I wonder why she is so tired.
Kids, work, drugs…or maybe just life.
Now the scene has changed. The seats are full, and my eye lids lay heavily. People of every walk burden the train. Some smile and others refrain.
The dark tunnel has just yet begun to run. Some small lights illuminate the drudgery, filth, and crime of time. White smatterings for unknown reason drool down the awkward shapes that hold up the underworld sky. Dark and foreboding…
And then the 59th Street light.
A young couple sit entangled in talk. The future is so bright.
And the ticket man comes to end my respite.