The Rising Sun

The train pulls in, I board and set myself down on a seat, my back to the rising sun.

“Another day,” I say to myself, defeated.

I see a child sitting with his mother, she falls asleep and he lays his head on her drooping shoulder.

I see a woman with a turban wrapped around her head and an older gentleman stands up and motions for her to sit. She smiles.

A young girl rides, waiting for the train to pick up speed so she can get to class on time. She knows she doesn’t truly want that, but she also knows she doesn’t have much of a choice. She pulls out her phone and scrolls into different staged realities.

“Another day.” I say to myself, defiantly.

The train pulls into 18th avenue and a man decides to play a sports talk show on his phone, out loud, too loud. I wonder if he just wants to share something with someone.

The train stops at Church avenue and then, thankfully express to 7th avenue and then to Jay Street. This will help me get to work on time.

The train pulls into West 4th and I’m pissed off and relieved at once. I am enjoying my book and the last thing I want to do is go back into my cell.

I transfer to the E train and get to work a minute early. Before I walk into my office, there’s a line of people hoping for the two jobs available — hopeful faces, anxious, early. They’d trade places with me in a second, cell and all.

“Just another day,” I sigh to myself gratefully.