A Rainy Night On the Train

Late night, dark streets. The raindrops trickle down the windows tirelessly, endlessly. They draw vertical lines, creates harsh, sharp angles, but eventually surrender to the train’s speed, fall to the tracks silently.

Inside the late train, all is quiet, save for the rumble of steel underneath. Sluggish bodies sway gently; droopy eyes are rocked to sleep. Somebody’s safely tucked away in his own world of sound, earphones at work, player in tow. One commuter huddles over her bags, a gentle, protective embrace. A couple kisses, the guy leans over as the girl coyly smiles. A mother texts (her children? Her husband? A friend?). Another reads from a thin book, a romance novel. A lady adjusts the straps of her shoes.

I look out the window; I catch a glimpse of the dark metro. Cars pass by at a leisurely pace, the asphalts too slippery for road rage. People pull their jackets closer as they carry umbrellas, creating a safe space against the cold weather. They avoid puddles as they walk the shadowy streets. Buildings are bleak, closed, silent. An ambulant peddler in an old plastic parka sells his wares, his merchandise covered with ratty plastic. A man rides his bike, his helmet dripping with rain, his jacket fluttering against the wind - a superhero braving the rain on wheels.