I leave early and the walk to the station is uneventful. Once inside, however, I join a mad rush of runners who - having just exited from the Fort Washington elevator - try to catch the train, which can be heard rumbling onto the platform below. One woman can't get her metrocard to work and dashes underneath the turnstile. I swipe my card behind her, but the delay has landed me at the foot of the pack; I surprisingly still make it on.
The first car, populated with the horde of Fort Washington residents that has just boarded, is void of empty seats. There is also a smelly homeless man wafting nearby, so at the next stop I switch into the adjacent car. Several others join me and along with all the new passengers boarding, this car quickly fills up as well. I find the last empty seat, next to a fidgety boy who leaves at the next station.
Near me a man, in jeans and a gray jacket, is carrying a Victoria Secret bag and eating fried chicken. The food actually smells good, but at 7 A.M. does not entice most human digestive systems. The smell of chicken is soon overpowered by that of yet another odorous homeless man. There is nothing left to do but grin, bear it, and try to forget it. Blackberry music always helps.
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