Sunday, March 13, 2005


Sitting on the platform waiting for you to arrive. Only thirty minutes to go until you get here. Every five minutes or so a train goes by, and I think - no, I hope - that you're on it. There's nothing sadder than waiting for a train, and I'd prefer to get this over with as soon as possible.

Directly across from me is a giant poster of a mayoral candidate. I know my face displays displeasure, but he just grins back at me with too many bright white teeth, plastic hair, and a suit too perfectly fitting. I wonder: Has he ever woken up hungover in a park with the Sunday morning sun warming his face? Has he ever lost an argument with his girlfriend on a crowded street corner? Has he ever driven his car across the country just because?

My attention is dragged away by the sight of a rat scurrying across the tracks. Another train rumbles to a stop, and people with empty faces walk off - but you're not one of them. I look at my watch - twenty-five minutes to go. The politician smirks at me from the poster. Has he ever waited for a train in a grimy subway tunnel for an old friend? Has he ever let time intervene and subsequently not known what to expect? Has he ever even really lived?

I hear the roar of another train coming through the tunnel. As it stops, its doors slide open and passengers swarm out onto the platform. My watch tells me I have to wait another twenty minutes. Instead, I stand up and mix with the crowd pushing towards the exit. Has he ever stood-up someone he cared about to protect her from cynicism and discouragement? It's too easy to convince myself of things. Swept away by the crowd, I slip off my watch and toss it in a trashcan. I just lost track of time, is all.

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