this morning #1968.

this morning, as soon as the last of her friends had hugged her & waved goodbye & exited the train, she pulled on her headphones. propped her feet up on the seat & crossed her arms tight. stared out the window. the next half hour was her half hour. her last little bit of time before stepping into an exhausting afternoon of tiptoeing through her family’s moods. the view from the elevated subway on this weekly commute was her favorite in the city. graffitied rooftops. tall buildings full of people. one spot where the buildings part, exposing the waterfront clear across the city. another that opens up into fields where immigrant men play soccer. the sun had finally fought through the clouds today, casting extra flair across it all.