I am a Passenger...

"Oh the passenger
He rides and he rides
He sees things from under glass
He looks through his window side
He sees the things that he knows are his
He sees the bright and hollow sky
He sees the city sleep at night
He sees the stars are out tonight
And all of it is yours and mine
And all of it is yours and mine
So let's ride and ride and ride and ride"    

                              Iggy Pop - The Passenger

Moment 1: The station's hot and rank with trash and grime and as the sweat drips from my collared neck I stare down the dark tunnel and think of the cool car just beyond the approaching light. I am a passenger. The car is hot but empty and I sit and tap impatiently as we stop at 34, then 42, then 55 and finally at 59 where I dash out of the broiling can. I spy the A through a stairwell and pick up my pace. Down the stairs; rush, rush, dodge, rush, step, step, step through the closing doors; "Please stand clear of the closing doors". I am a passenger. The car is cool but crowded; no room to move, "pardon my step"; No room to breathe, "pardon my breath"; no room for reading, "pardon my stare". Ads I've read a thousand times run the length of the car and I read them over again wondering when they'll be rote. People insulating me; insulating themselves; hiding in words and music and moving pictures and sometimes hiding in stares; in ignorance. Ignoring the people. People standing, people sitting, people hanging from bars. People yelling, people smiling, people scowling and sneering and stealing and groping people, people, PEOPLE! Gotta get home, long day of work; need to get home, no time for beggars; want to just get home and away from the underground and the people and the chaos and the noise and the people and the PEOPLE! I am a passenger, and each day I ride... 

Moment 2: The train is bright; bright with light, with smiles and with people. People drifting home after dinners and drinks and dalliances and debauchery. We are all passengers on the same path; all destined for domesticity; for elevators and apartments and beds and the sleeping away of too many drinks. There is breakdancing and beatboxing to the broken beat of the constant clattering train and under the strobing lights of passing stations we all smile and laugh and wade leisurely in the warming jovial camaraderie of a boozy haze. Together we are passengers, and we ride and we ride and we ride into the night….

Moment 3: There was a delay; there's always a delay. I'm starved and the bags weigh me down and with each passing step the migraine squeezes tighter. As we exit the terminal the wind and cold are waiting to welcome us as only a New York winter can. The taxi line is long and I think I'll be used to the cold in a moment or two but as the minutes drag and my teeth chatter the hope slips further away. The taxi provides relief; even with its "lived in" upholstery, acrid with smoke and soda and ancient, rotted leather. Its a luxury after a long day of lines and flights. The numbness recedes slowly; my body warms and remembers the aches of a day spent in transit and I melt into the cushioned seat as we speed through Queens.  Manhattan peaks above Astoria's tree lined streets; a teasing glimpse hinting at it's its towers and lights and life and energy and that same sensation returns, the feeling that accompanies every refreshed view of the city; the surreal realization that I live here; I live HERE!   I close my eyes over the Triborough and let the city take me again, once more blissfully into the maelstrom, into the deafening euphoric deluge of pulsating dreams. I am a passenger.

Moment 4: The street weary leather soles of my brogues clack across the pavement and echo against the canyon of brownstones. I follow the streets; they know where to go. I follow them from asphalt to cobblestone and back again. Through winding park paths; through puddles of slush and piles of trash; under bridges and overpasses. They guide me through the night, tarted up in its electric best. They part and join and amble and end, west odds to east evens; each a separate vignette of time and place. Weaving their way through a tapestry of history and future colliding in an explosion of noise and light and kinetics. They carry me through the pulsing life of the metropolis; pushing forward, looking back They remind me that I am only a passenger, and I ride.