No. 248 - A Train Station in New Jersey

It’s Monday morning in Trenton, NJ, and I’m sitting at a train station with a coffee. The sky is grey, the tracks are rusty, and Earth, Wind & Fire is coming through a weathered speaker.

My train to D.C. is running twenty minutes late. I’m sitting outside in a necktie and plaid jacket, so I’m warm.

A northbound train passes by with the familiar sounds of a ringing bell and screeching brakes.

There’s not much to look at – gravel, benches, a drab parking garage, orange and green shrubs, an American flag, broken cement.

Forty minutes late now.

I can smell last night’s cigar on my mustache. I vigorously scrubbed it with soap this morning. A lady next to me is smoking a cigarette.

Another bell rings, bringing with it a dystopian-looking train: flat-nosed with yellow and black stripes.

Forty-five minutes late.

Too many humans. Too many variables.

Composed, Edited, and Published in the Trenton, NJ Train Station