Jan. 13: The Train

At some point past the age of eight, trains lose their wonder. At some point, they stop being magical feats of engineering and become simply one more unexciting way to get where you need to go—crowded and slightly stained.

No one looks up on the train. We read our phones or stare out the window, never at each other. We avoid eye contact with the woman yelling about, I don’t know, about something.

When it’s less crowded—not at the end of the work day—sometimes we’ll exchange the small smile before we look away. Another day, we both imperceptibly nod to each other. At least we made it another day. At least we’re not stuck in traffic. At least we’re not, God forbid, on the bus.