F train in Brooklyn

​I ride this F train each day. I ride this train both ways—from here to there, off to go anywhere.

​It’s a slow train. People walk on and off—some look familiar, others just seem lost. I ride from home to the city, wondering where it’s taking me. I can look at the map, but I still don’t know where I’m going.

​Ghosts abound—men and women dressed to the nines. An elderly lady holding a walking cane sits with style, whispering softly. A laugh turns into a smile, and the smile turns into a look of realization. She is seeing something we cannot see.

​She clicks her feet together with a look that says she just wants to go home.