The Train

By Justin Wang

“Click!”

“You have the two twenty train,” a man behind a glass panel said. I walked up to the train.

“Now boarding the two twenty train to Manhattan, New York,” a static speaker sounded. There was much confusion as people pushed people out of their way to get onto their train. I could here some arguments here and some street performers there, but the sounds evaporated as the train’s doors closed.

In the train was a horrible odor that made your insides crawl trying to get away from that magnificently bad smell protruding from the door to my right. I urged as far to the left as possible, accidently bumping into exasperated people as I went.

“Watch it!”

“Hey!” I just ignored them like my ma told me, her two rules, don’t look a stranger in the eye, and don’t get into any fights. The first rule overlaps with the second rule, but the second rule is pretty apparent. I could see young business men and a laughing couple and a few gangsters snickering. There was the sound of commerce and a sick person was coughing and sneezing on the odorous side of the train. His sense of smell was probably clogged I thought. The seats were hard as cement. The wood was chipped and there were love notes and names engraved in the seat’s surface. People were grasping the metal poles that stuck a foot deep into the train’s floor. Holding on nonchalantly just like this was another day on the train. The room suddenly turned quiet for a split second and I could hear the “chuga” of the train’s wheels.

“We have arrived in Manhattan, please exit through the door on your right, have a nice day!”

I stepped out and gleamed.