passing trains

I stand on the platform waiting for the Red line.

The old men in Washington Senators jackets make me chuckle, eyes that reveal themselves as boys. The summer sundresses, click of heels, remind me that it is not winter, that I have a garden waiting and more sunny walks to take, and friends to linger drinking margaritas and half-priced bottles of wine with.

I'm late to work and too sleepy to be too worried.

As i walk downstairs the train I need pulls away and I see blurs of colors and co-Metro-ers: high school class trippers, other late workers, baseball's-return celebrators, meeting-goers, giggling couples, k-street execs.

I take a left rather than right at the bottom of the escalator, moving away from the clusters of people that will gather in the long five minutes till the next train.

The Red Line to Shady Grove, going the opposite direction of mine, zooms past. And here is what I see: A man my age, dressed casual, alone, carrying just one object: The largest container they make of Scope Blue Mouthwash.