Public Transitioning

The air this morning felt rude against the back of my throat, pushing and scratching something that didn't deserve to be bothered. Like a CTA passenger, pressing against its neighbors, forcing itself upon unwilling fellow riders. We're all victims on the train. This is the worst time of year to be riding the train. To be fair, all times of year are the worst to be riding the train. Everyone's bundled up, scarves on some, coats on others, and still more that didn't quite get the memo that summer's over, barelegged and begging for a burst of heat, uncaring if it's from the fart emitted from their neighbor. You know the scene well.

But truly. It's the coughing that gets me. The uncovered mouth, uninvited into the air -- an uncouth start to a sick filled season. Fall should be a perfect time of year, watching the earth move quickly. But instead it's too often something else. What you once knew and had gotten so accustomed to is suddenly over and all you have to show for it is your body's literal rejection: the cough. Spitting out and hoping to heal what's still salvageable. I get you, Fall.

And as the train screeches to a halt, and you arrive at your destination, you're either happy it's over, or you've somehow figured out a way to enjoy the ride. I'm still waiting for that part.

loop bound