Thursday morning, chilly but the sun is coming around. Listening to an old fashioned love song. A squirrel scurrying, bread delivery for the deli, and the sound of storefront gates being lifted.
It’s a vacant aching feeling when people are dancing and you hear about a man suffering.

We walk on, no other option. As the elevated platform shouts the sound of a moving train, like hammers on steel.
“I’ll get the next one.”

Homeless man outside of the coffee shop, smoking and sipping. A well respected man who once could not catch the train anymore and still wears that same suit some years later.

Thursday, I run my hand through my hair, and climb the stairs up towards the platform. “I got a train to catch.”