On the R Train

Sometimes I just ride the subway to listen.
I don’t read a book or a magazine. I don’t listen to my iPod.

I sit and look at the other riders and make up stories about their lives. I wonder where the dust came from on that man’s boots and think about how in the weeks following 9-11 it wasn’t just the construction workers that had dust on their shoes and the bottom of their pants.
I look at the children turning to face the windows so that they can wave to people on the passing trains.
I look at the different colours of the different people and I am lulled, as ever, by the gentle rocking of the train as it speeds through the tunnels along the tracks.
I am comforted by the rushing clickandclack and feel great communion with the NYers around me.