The 5:26

If I make it to Union Station right after the 5:04 leaves, I know I’ll get a good seat on the 5:26 in the first car up top and on the end. Ends are key so you don’t have two sets of elbows pressing in on you the whole way home.

I like the seat closest to the engineer’s cockpit on the far end (Please Do Not Put Belongings In Front of Door) because there’s more room and then I don’t have to twist my legs to one side letting people out.
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There’s a very pretty, largish black woman sitting across the aisle. She is writing in a diary.

She glances up once in a while to look around and I’m guessing she’s writing about train people, too.

I wonder if we see the same things. I wonder if because of her experiences she sees things differently. Maybe she notices the things that I don’t.

I wonder: If we put our train notes next to each other would it even seem like we’re in the same place?
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My train notes: I bet she has beautiful penmanship. She has perfect French-manicured nails and writes slowly and deliberately like someone who takes pride in that sort of thing. Her eyebrows are gorgeous – perfect thin arches. She’s very pretty. We smiled at each other a few minutes ago.
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Her train notes: She is chewing gum. The gum, combined with her deeply furrowed brows as she tap tap taps loudly on her laptop make her less pretty than she could be. She is working it seems. She offers a brief, violent smile to the conductor as he punches her ticket but then it’s back to business. We smiled at each other a few minutes ago.
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Some days I feel so connected to everyone it makes me cry.

And other days I couldn’t feel more far away from all humanity.

The train brings that continuum into sharp perspective every day.
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I am listening to: Paolo Nutini – New Shoes
I am reading: To do list for today
And I am: Stressed