First, they placed a white L-shaped sticker on the subway map. To hide the prepared changes.
Then, when the new line opened up, they replaced all the signs.
For the first 6 months, the signs pointed to A. Now they point to B. It happened in a blink of an eye.
Like a memory. A glance. A fleeting dream.
One day, I won’t remember what it looked like when it pointed to A. One day, they won’t even know that A existed.
She stood with a hand-held loudspeaker on the train platform, like a broken record repeating,
“Please watch out for the uneven floor surfaces. Please watch out.”
Everyday. For a week.
One day, she was gone.
The loudspeaker remained in her place.
It hung by a rope from its new owner – a cement column near the fence. A man’s voice replaced hers,
“Please watch out for the uneven floor surfaces.”
Please watch out.
I looked at my reflection on the passing train.
My body in the rushing colors and blurring glass windows over the not-so-subtle hum of metal against track.
When the train was gone,
so was I.
of ice clinking in a glass
the sound of luxury,
of afternoon coffee-in-a-glass symphony.
when the gecko came out of the toaster
as she was making