Trem Two

"At the intersection, the streetlights were all aglow. Reds, yellows and greens. The headlights of cars as they come careening by, flash on and off in the corner of my eye. Everything B-L-I-N-K-I-N-G. Like Christmas. Upturned collars of overcoats sway in the wind. Hands in pockets, we hunch over, balling ourselves up to face the chill. This is not the time to hold hands (so convenient an excuse). The smell of butternut squash soup from the restaurant sticks to our clothes, and its nutty fragrance obscures the commonplace odor of garbage, urine and spilled alcohol that you encounter on this side of the city. Down below in the station, a train arrives and departs with a long whizz, and then a brief wail. "Hope that's not ours." Indifference, then, "And if so, what then? At least it's warm inside." Down we go. Off with the gloves."

From The Evening Walk by Jonathan Taft.