Getting to my office took two hours and three connections. It was a brutal commute; but after working from home for the past eight weeks, I've realized that the legs of the journey that I had cursed, and damned, and wished away, are actually the ones I long for the most.
I miss walking down quiet city streets, and watching the construction workers finish their egg sandwiches and cigarettes as they ogled passing nurses.
Dancing around the old, wheelchair-bound woman, parked inconveniently in the middle of the sidewalk, and smelling the bacon and freshly-baked croissants from the corner diner.
Feeling anxious when the crosstown bus ran a little late, and being squeezed in through the narrow doors by the bodies of my fellow passengers.
Glancing at the weird kid with the runny nose and big eyes who stared, and chatting with the man who sat across from me about his life as a firefighter turned body builder; or was it body builder turned firefighter?
Cruising across the bridge when there was no morning traffic, and attempting to ignore the mayhem of street that ran perpendicular to the train station.
Pitying both the methadone addicts scrounging for cigarettes and the out-of-town professional types hustling to their subway lines.
Breathing in the sour scent of urine that wafted through the train terminal, and watching the sun rise over the river from atop the train platform as I edged away from the lady standing next to me who threatened to push me on to the tracks if I ever look at her wrong again.
Saying “Good morning” to the conductor as he greeted me with a reassuring smile, and allowing the rhythm of the train to lull me into a fragile sleep.
Stepping off the train and seeing an ordinary city full of ordinary buildings, and moving, as a blob, with my fellow commuters to the bus station.
Waiting patiently during winter mornings when the bus driver wouldn't let us aboard the shuttle while he sat cozily inside.
Forcing awkward shuttle-bus relationships, and theorizing about my mysterious fellow passengers: the pregnant chola with the lip piercing, the autistic young man with the big forehead, and the tall, grey gentleman with his ill-fitting suit, monogrammed briefcase, and facial expression that reads: I’ve lost it all.
Being the first one in the office despite traveling nearly two hours to get there, and coping with exhaustion before my day even begun.
Working from home is great, but I miss my connections.
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