Rush Hour, 5/12

The platform, full. No trains in sight. Across the street, a car pulls into the lot. It sputters to a stop. A brown, early 1990’s Cutlass, the door opens. The passenger steps out. An umbrella falls to the ground, rolls under the car. The woman makes a mad dash across the street. Her pants disheveled. Held on primarily by a large shoulder bag, a jacket, trails behind her. One sleeve drags on the ground. The bag flails, flopping against her as she lumbers onto the platform. Hair is stuck to her face,  a look of determination becomes her. Each footfall like a tiny earthquake, she makes her way through the crowd. She is hunched over, struggling with her belongings. Her gaze unmet. Her person seems beyond her faculties. Her posture, awkward and leaning, she dodges other pedestrians and benches alike.

She boards the train no one else saw coming.


~ by namderf on May 12, 2011.