Train Rider

I sit there waiting for the iron box that takes me to NYC every day. Before you even see it, the hissing tracks announce its arrival; then the whistle. There is that smell when the train hits the breaks. Metal against metal, friction, hot air. The train is finally here.
I have learned to live with it, but I have not learned to love the ride. Thousands of people sitting next to each other, and yet we are all invisible. For some, the train is a place to take that last nap before reaching destination. Others use it as an office, talking on their cell phones, e-mailing from their computers. Others just love listening to music and disconnecting themselves from the world.
Sometimes I work, sometimes I sleep. But most of the time I think... and think. I think about the people that ride with me, where are they going. I think about the birds I see outside, swimming on that nasty water poluted with the residues of civilization. I think of how a country can deploy troops so fast when fighting a war on the other side of the planet, but takes so long to help the victims of a natural dissaster in its own backyard.
But mostly, in a good day when the sky is clear, I see the sunset reflected on the Raritan River, announcing that I am minutes away from home.