The Subway Diaries.

Day One.

St, Andrew: My Subway Station.

I could ride the subway all day if I could. Only if I knew where the bad neighborhoods were, so I don't get off at those stations or overstay my transit welcome. The subway has the highest turn over of strangers that I've ever seen. More so then the bar on a busy, fall Saturday. Anyway it's easier to eavesdrop on the subway. Mostly.

People sit in clumps. Couples towards the middle of the car, singles towards the edges. They do this and there's little interaction between riders. The couple protect each other by being their companion. Singles suddenly find their hands/phones/iPods/books really interesting. What if your subway fare was to have a conversation with someone. I wonder how that would go.

The wheels make a deathly sounding screech against the track. We all hear it. A girl in skin colored shorts and a mint green t-shirt grimaces at the sounds. Or maybe she grimaces at her too tight shorts. I personally don't think they're too tight. At least she's small. I've seen worse. Don't judge. You know you have too.

A young guy gets on my car. We hit the Museum station, nobody else gets off. He sits in front of me, closes his eyes and focuses on the ear buds he looks permanently attached to. He's wearing a white G.Star Raw DNM shirt. What the hell is that? I'm still baffled by the differences I see between here and home. 

I glance right. My reflection looks back at me from the dark corridor. St. Patrick station is next. I add a tick mark to the top of my page, my way of keeping track of where I am. Nine stops between home, St. Andrew, and work, Eglinton West. 


I get off at my stop, happy that I have mastered the subway in one day. It's 4 P.M. It' time for a drink.