Yesterday I rode the train to the center of the city. It was late, dark, colder than most nights. The riders inside huddled to make space for yet another set of travelers with heavy hearts: routines, high taxes, big dreams. The performers of the trains are not the break-dancers, singers or preachers you see on social media. Nah. We are the real performers of the train. We assume a stance, we tense our hands, we grow eyes behind our backs, we’re ready to roll and, if necessary, fight. 

When the masses of strangers, tourists, and drunks fill the cars, we cram inside. We loosen our joints and hold our breaths. Our solar plexus vibrates with fire. We twist and turn to modify our muscles. We blend into one another like contortionists. When the train stops dead on its tracks, we bump into each other like dominos. At that moment the self disappears. Our bodies join into

one wonder

one marvel

one fear

at this majestic yet destructive system. 

We take one collective gasp.

Together.