in transit

November 18, 2021

I rode the subway yesterday for the first time in two years. I handed over my token at Spadina station, as I have a million times before, and walked down the escalator to catch my northbound train. I didn’t sit, but then again, I rarely do. My mum says that many Londoners on public transit defy mask rules. My train was filled with them. Surgical ones, cloth ones, butterflies, flowers and gingham. I never knew the trains were built in Thunder Bay. I noticed long, high-gloss acrylic nails on at least three other riders. And more people were reading books than staring into their phones. As we neared Davisville station, I thought about what lovely respite above ground corridors are, and how much I enjoy train travel. Today my daughter rides the subway on her own for the first time. Seven stops, three changes. I’m inside out at the thought. I’m excited for her, too. Oh, the places she’ll go.


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