I am a Bird, and There are Tigers on the White Frames of my Dark Sunglasses

In the subway station at Broad and Spring Garden, I sit on a metal bench next to a young father and his son who could not have been older than two years old. “One, two, three, four, five,” the father spoke slowly, drawing each number out while extending his fingers one at a time to teach his son how to count. Both wore expensive looking gym shoes. Both wore red shirts. While saying the word “twooooo,” the father glanced at me with a smile meant for his son as he noticed me peaking over.

On the train, the man across from me wore green pinstriped pants which, when he sat, hiked up so you could see his ankles. He wore boat shoes, a dark green shirt with pockets and buttons and a collar, a golfer’s beret and dark framed glasses. When I turned to stare at my window, the reflection of him made his glasses appear like sunglasses. He looked like he was staring me down. I turned back to him, only to find his eyes behind the lenses glancing around elsewhere.

In front of me, a girl wearing black socks, tough black shoes and black shorts and a black sleeveless shirt holding a blue backpack and a rugged looking black bike examined my sunglasses briefly before looking away so as not to let me notice. Her fingernails were colored glossy lime green. Her eyes were also lightly colored. She dipped her head to the side in a clever exhaustion. Her bike appeared to have gone briefly through a pain session, as it showed small blips of green here and there. It was also chipped. But otherwise, the bike was enormously black. The tires were thick, like a mountain bike. The tire read “Odyssey Phila.”

A stop later, tons of Phillies fans rushed on board the train.

Before getting off the train, I bid them all farewell and good luck, for I would never see them again. And then I corrected myself and said nevermind, I will see you soon, for I shall write about all of you. And then finally, I corrected myself again and said actually, I’ll say goodbye for good right here, for it will never be the same.

I swung around the metal banisters in the train with my arms outstretched, and I carried my backpack off the train at Walnut-Locust station as soon as the doors opened. I did not look back to watch the train disappear behind me.