Each morning, the same ritual confronts me on the subway.

The doors jolt open and hordes of people flood off.

More miserable people swarm on like liquid, filling every gap.

They push right past me, rubbing against my outstretched arm.

I left my Brooklyn apartment earlier this morning, at 7:00:

the moon fading, the light turning toward gray dawn shadow.

I move with the train and the crowds to Manhattan.

No one particularly notices me, I’m just another forgettable man.

The subway is warm and cozy-feeling, despite the sad-mouthed strangers.

It’s comforting here after the freezing wind of January outside.


Paraphrases from the novels One Step Too Far by Tina Seskis and The World at Night by Alan Furst.