Telling Details

Riding the Rails

A herd of backpack wearers slowly pile into the gapping light-rail doors. With only a quick glance across the sea of faces a common expression is easily seen. Exhausted eyes and emotionless mouths stand all around you waiting uncomfortably for a place to sit. Three short tones beep over the stirring sound of bodies; a thud of metal on rubber closes the doors with little concern for those between them.


Those left seat-less grasp frantically for the nearest silver pole when the train jerks forward hurling them embarrassingly backward. The droning sound of stale air recycled through the cars creates more ambient noise than cooling space. Red dots scroll overhead reading what will be the next stop, but you show no interest knowing that you will be there for at least ten more.