standing at the station
standing at the station It's dark when I wait for the train each morning. Every day there's a man in a fluorescent orange shirt with steel tip boots and long denim shorts who arrives shortly after me. He ritualistically steps to the edge of the platform and turns up toward the textured navy sky. One day I casually glanced in this direction, hoping we might share a secret. As I stepped back with disappointment, he arrived. His toes creep past the...