I reluctantly walked up the stairs towards the platform.

The usual riders are there waiting for the F-Train to arrive. The Asian woman with her hot drink in her hand, the Spanish man tying his sneakers, the Black lady with her son holding his hand tightly and the Black and White clad Jewish man silently moving his lips while reciting words from a small book.

A thirty-something very pretty lady walks on. Her hair is still damp and the strands fall upon her shoulders and her breasts. A black leather short jacket, and a collared shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a hint of her curves. She looks at me and provides me with a quick smile and then looks away.

A blond lady with a small face, perfectly in tune with her small nose and her pursed lips, painted plum and her hair tied up behind her head. She was thinking about something which made her seem tense and then unexpectedly a smile. 

Spanish man, hair spiked and dressed in clothing from ten years past. Eyes darting and then he departs on 18th Avenue. 

Middle-aged Asian lady, wearing a mask covering her nose and mouth. She is massaging her hands while reciting words unheard. 

An older man is sitting, reading something. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, he’s been through wars and has the scars to prove it. 

Church Avenue and the Russian girl gets off and is replaced by a bearded Middle Eastern-looking man. 

7th Avenue and the pretty ladies saunter onto the subway car, dressed in spring colors and soft makeup. Fathers and their kids walk on and the father seems to advertise that he is a good father by talking loudly to his kid. Seemingly upset that no one would give up their seat for the kid. As if that kid’s world is our responsibility. 

A man walks in wearing pretensions. Wayfair sunglasses in a dark train, a checkered collared shirt, and a satchel. You can sense the liberal elitist cologne.

A man in an expensive Italian suit, looking like a FOX NEWS correspondent walks on with an unearned smirk. He believes he is the answer and he knows all the answers. 

The two men look at each other and turn away. 

Young nurses gather around a pole and talk about the professors who treat their students like dictators. They don’t teach, they spit out references and expect the students to “pay their dues ” 

The train keeps on rolling, that’s an old one. The books are being read, and people are glued to their phones, like me, I guess.  They are playing with their apps and perhaps writing.

Dreamers are dreaming, the lonely keep on staring and quickly looking away. 

It’s the same old game, right?

A glimpse of a future memory and a lost thought about today. 

Strangers stand face to face, closer than most husbands and wives. You can feel their breath, sense their hearts beating, their thoughts pulsating and their tears wiped away and invisible to their close friends and relatives, yet so visible to the stranger.

The train pulls into Jay Street and I walk across the platform to the A train. 

Just another day.