The lobby smells like toast, which doesn't make life better for those who have left home without breakfast. I hold the front door open for a neighbor who takes too long to reach it, then step out into gorgeous fresh air. Judy R. is walking her child down Bennett Avenue, which is drenched in a sunlight that hasn't been seen since September.
There is a cute girl outside the station, talking on her cellphone. I've seen her on the train many times before, often with her boyfriend and often arguing with him. "I don't need to make a lot of money," she says, "but it should be about work and effort."
Yonatan K. is sitting on the benches just behind the turnstiles. He doesn't notice me as I walk by and stroll down the stairs to the subway platform.
On the train, I sit next to a couple. The man, in gray suit and lavender tie, is glued to his iPhone. He has an oblong head and a short reddish beard, and his wife, who appears the older of the two, reminds me a of my first college girlfriend. I double-take to make sure it isn't actually her, and the man takes notice. She doesn't; she closes her eyes just as his return to his precious phone.
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