Tremors

It's a dreary day out, and a bag full of heavy laundry doesn't help the scene. On the way to the laundromat, I see Will A. exiting from the synagogue, and Jeremy S. (presumably having just left synagogue as well) across the street. On the way back, I pass David H. and we both wave.

The next stop is Dunkin' Donuts but the line for coffee is too long so I walk out and head over to the train station. Along the way I run into Meyer B. and he offers a salute. I nod in response.

In the tunnel, a wide Hispanic woman in a green shirt and gray capris is sporting the world's loudest flip flops. The sound of each step she take radiates through the station like a minor earthquake. Past the turnstiles and all the way on the other side of the platform, I can still hear the clickety clack of her pacing.

The train is crowded, but I manage to get a seat; it’s a few more minutes of respite before the work week begins.