TTC

The train stops. Someone told me they loved taking the subway. Told me to bring a book and earphones. I started doing it but now no more books, it's too fast of a commute. Oh, well. There's an unusual glow between these strangers. Their eyes all cross paths. An old man reads with much eye effort. A girl plays on her phone indifferently. Is this how it ends, with all these strangers? Not that I'm thinking something would happen but wouldn't it be peculiar? I imagine the lights flickering. Maybe it's zombies, maybe it's aliens, maybe it's the Americans. A tall beautiful woman rests her curly haired head on the plexiglass. The bike man looks at me. He's got one of those large, heavy bikes. Looks stable. Is the stability his or the bikes? A large bearded man sleeps and wakes up, sleeps and wakes up. We are surrounded by concrete and Billy Joel sings about Vienna in my ears. So many phones. It's most definitely not zombies. Weird times we live in. Constantly worrying about our collective end yet wanting it to be destroyed so bad. Keep the people, down with the system! Wait, the bike man is looking at ne again. He looks curious. Maybe because I'm silently singing and dancing. What else am I supposed to do if this is the end, or even if this is the beginning or the middle. We shall move. Unlike this train. No announcement. Just silence. It's oddly silent. Maybe it's the time. Maybe it's just my deep desire for novelty. It is a curse, wanting it. Not quite sure what. But seeking, always seeking. Like the family with their baby looking at stations on the map. They seem happy and new. I've been there. Now I'm just an old torontonian admiring  the concrete and the trees. Not here. Here I just see walls and we are not moving. So many people. What's their story, where are they going where am I. I am going home. Here and there. And more. Grew up traveling and moved away and away again, both young. Now I'm at the last place I ran to. No more running. Especially because this train isn't moving! Everyone just looks tired. The student rests on his backpack. The bike men looks at me again. I am tired. Ah, there it goes. We move again. I get up. I breath.